Other Woman
by GreenWallsOfArt
Summary: Victor is trying to avoid becoming a fish merchant, and betrothal, to be an artist. But then, a young romantic writer, Nicole Hudson, accidentally comes back to Victor's time. Updated 11/7/10
1. Caught in a Muddle

Chapter 1 (Victor)

_Tweet. Chirp. Swooo! _

Ah. One of the glorious sounds of the city, if not the most. If the sight of this bird were not beautiful enough, I'd be drawing how wonderful the sound it makes when it stands on the sill.

Admittedly, in all that is taking place, the sound of the quill running across the parchment and the chirping song of the bird, is enough to make me forget that I'm sitting in a colorless room, in an even more colorless city, in the presence of nature's beauty. It makes me feel as though I'm the only person in the city that is capable of appreciating such things. Although, I can give some credit to the fellows at the museum just a couple of blocks from here. I hear from some on the streets that the work displayed inside the massive building is actually very extraordinary.

Unfortunately, with the strict upbringing that my parents put upon me when I was at least seven years old, seeking the dreams inside the museum is something that only a foolish old coot with no decent name would do. Or, at least, so that's what my mother claims. It seems to me that while my mother is a good person who brought me up into the van Dort family name with good care, she has no true idea what lies within such a place. And given that I never have been too keen on socializing with the aristocracy and other such people, it's not as though I can call upon someone to bring their carriage for an outing there.

I've never understood it. There is something about the aristocracy and their ways of life and going about doing it that terrifies me. It's plain to see that they have their fortunes and high names, but then below that, they are all the same. Everything to them is all money, stature, and seeing to it that nothing beyond embarrassment comes to them. And what's worse- they are like the kings of the city, claiming every corner they can take, clearing away all traces of loose freedom and care-free thinking. I suppose that's why I've never been a hairbreadth of an inch into a safe relationship with one. They would see my ways are not like theirs and then boot me out the door like an old shoe.

Besides, my gift for art has been disapproved of so that the only time I can do something I enjoy is when the fishmongers grow tired and my parents have to run outside to get them back in line. That is why my work is so scarce, since I would have to create something worth keeping in a half hour. And it is very rare that a lovely little bird stays on the windowsill at just the right time for me to observe and visually capture it. It's very sad, really. At least a week ago, I was going down the stairs to see my father at work with the fishmongers, when I heard the awful sound of paper being pulled down from a wall, like a musket gunshot in my ears. I kept tripping over my feet trying to get back up to my bedroom, and found my mother viciously removing my drawings from the wall. Luckily, I was able to get them out of her hands, and safe from the corner wastebasket, but only barely. I tried my best to convince my parents that my artwork was not worth the effort of getting rid of, but they always find some way to prove me wrong.

"If the talent flourishes, then your respectability in society shall plummet like a silly goose to the floor!"

"It is not the sort of thing that'll attract a pretty woman."

"Woman like to marry rich, handsome, men who are educated in finances, not in the imagination. Really, how many times must we go through this, Victor? Dreamers never get anywhere."

The way they talk about art and a free, imaginative way of thinking is as though it is an insect in their teacup. And it only makes me realize even more how lonely I am, that I can easily make mistakes when I am in the midst of high society…

"Victor, dear!"

The proud voice of my mother shocks me so that I jump, rocking my stool, and tearing the tip of my quill through the paper. Now a long tear is running through the bird's belly and the little creature was gone from the sill. I woefully close my sketchbook and put the quill inside its inkwell. I take a book from my shelf, and pretend to be reading about the history of the British Empire.

My mother comes through the door, bouncing in on top of her robust figure. She waddles towards my desk, peeking over my shoulder at the book I'm pretending to read. She opens a fan and waves it at herself.

"Victor, dear, it pains me to see you being so lonesome," she says. "Do suppose you would come down and join the fishmongers? Your father and I are tired of telling them to get off their sorry bottoms and keep up the business." She keeps fanning herself, and I feel her gaze move onto me.

"Must I, Mother?" I ask, looking at her over my shoulder.

"What else can you say, Victor?" she says. "The fishmongers are getting lazy and Mayhew just will not silence that blasted coughing of his. You know how it bothers me to listen to him spread his disease over our business."

I don't say anything, turning my head back into the book. It's as bothersome to me listening to my mother complain as it is to her listening to our coachman, Mayhew, cough incessantly. He has some kind of condition that we can't place exactly, and at many unexpected times, he begins to heave and open his eyes wide when his coughing fits come through. I always feel sorry for the fellow, but everyone else takes it as a nuisance.

"Nell, come along dear, business is getting slow and I will need you…" My father's voice and his footsteps become louder as he comes up the stairs. He steps through the doorway and stops when he sees Mother standing over me.

"Victor, what are you doing?" he asks, leaning on his wooden cane.

"Reading, Father," I answer, turning to glance his way.

"Very good, son," he says, joining Mother at her side. He then begins to walk around, pacing crookedly on his cane. "Now, I'm not going to beat about the bush, son, but you realize that the time is growing short and business is blooming in the van Dort fish merchant enterprise and, well…" He mumbles something to himself, fiddling with his spectacles.

"We believe that it is time you take over with the fishmongers," Mother finishes for him.

"The time…is it that short?" I ask nervously, putting the book on the desk with a loud thud.

"I would say that it is," Mother says.

"And you are not a day over twenty years old," Father adds, "as I am not a day over sixty. Our family needs a successor, and you are the likely winner for that title."

I know that I should accept this news like a gentleman. But I don't think of myself as one, nor as a winner, as my father said. I'm not a spoiled child, but I can think of better things than taking over from my parents.

"But…what if that is…not what I want to do?" I ask them. "The both of you are of able body. Suppose you could continue further?"

Mother looks at me like I have quills sprouting from my eyes. "Victor, you know what obligations you have," she says. "It is in your own duty to assume this role. If you refuse this, our family will go down in shame and poverty. The van Dort name is vital to our success, and you don't care?"

"It's not that I don't _care_, Mother," I say, standing up from my stool to face them. "I just think that, well, there are other things that I'd rather do. All my life I've been forced to succumb to what you want for me to do. Don't you suppose that perhaps I could make my own choice?"

I wait for a reply from them, but my mother simply states, "Victor, we want what is best for you, but we also must do what is best for us. And now, you taking over is the best that you can do."

"You must also take a bride too," Father cuts in.

"What?" I ask, my skin going cold.

"When you take over from us, Victor, you have to have married," Father continues. "With the success we've been having, women will come flocking to you like bees to honey."

"About time they did, too," Mother says. "The way you lock yourself in here saddens me to the bone."

"I do not lock myself in here," I object.

"If you do any more, you'll never find yourself a bride," Father says. "Many beautiful women are out there waiting for you to ask for their hand."

"But I don't know any women," I say.

"Then, we suggest that you get out of this stingy dungeon, and see the city," Mother says sharply. "Clearly your sketching business has transformed you into a poor, lonely boy. It's no wonder you do not know any women."

I sigh deeply, sitting back on my stool. I will not go out, and even if I do, what could I do other than stand in the street like a living statue? No one quite knows me, and sadly, I don't know anyone. And why would I? Their ways of going about life, and the way they would put me down the moment that I mention art, frightens me. And the women, they could be worse. It's possible for one to catch me, but then, what would I say to them, or anyone else?

My parents walk out the door without saying anything, leaving me at my desk. I wonder, why must this happen? Why do young men like me have to succumb to the orders of our parents, who did not realize what their children want to make of themselves? I feel very deeply that I could do all right without being a wed fish merchant. The fellows at the museum would be kind wouldn't they? I could be perfectly happy without a wife, and being an artist…without making all the amounts of money my parents have…living happily…together…

I sigh again, wishing that the world would melt away and all these troubled thoughts would dissolve into thin air. Life is confusing and quite unfair, with its unnecessary protocols. It pains me to think that soon I'll have to go through with marriage and follow the path that my parents have paved, already beginning to live it for me. Marriage would be worse, having to meet and impress a beautiful young woman and be a good husband to her in the middle of such a money-chasing society.

A knot forms inside my stomach, and I lean my head on the desk, hoping to push away these troubled thoughts. But, like all my attempts of telling my parents that I did not want to give in to high obligations in society, it's all for nothing.


	2. Meet Nicole

Chapter 2 (Nicole)

My God, this is finally coming together. I swear, if I didn't live here in the scenic suburbs well…I guess there'd be no inspiration for me at all. Because my house is right on the edge of a picturesque golf course, there are lots of willows and rivers to write about. Listening to the way they make music in the wind makes for very nice poetry, especially when you can present it to an English professor who will listen. Besides, it's especially great if they can recommend that you send it to a publisher. Unfortunately, that has never happened. Why?

No one believes I can do it. In a way, it feels like I have fallen into the nineteenth century, where great works of literature and art are never appreciated unless the artist dies. That's how all the greats got recognized; not until after they were dead! It's a sad commentary on this little suburb that I live in- everyone is more interested on their next dates or when the next soap will be on, rather than take a moment to look at real art and appreciate it for its beauty. Seems like the only people in this whole place who can look at nature and see it for what it is, are the people who created the golf course. If you look at it, you might have mistaken it for a fairy tale land, because the ponds have lily pads with tiny little bridges, with waving willow trees covering them like leafy umbrellas. And the way that they bend in the wind, so tenderly and sweetly, is enough to make a romantic writer swoon with pleasure.

And that's what I am. My whole life, I've been fascinated with the written word, concocting poems and stories of nature, telling of fairies and trolls living inside the willows, and of lovers eloping deep into the hills and away from the conformity of their former lives. But they got lucky- me, I'm still stuck here with nowhere else to go over the summer but back home. I enjoy my time at college a lot, where I am assigned to create works of written literature. But in the summer, due to a lack of good friends and really any other place to go, I return back home.

The suburb of Gale, in the northeastern portion of the Chicago area, is a nice little town, but it's not exactly the city that makes the idea of staying the summer worthwhile. The natural spectacle wows me, but the people take away from it. People pass by me, notice my work and they pass it up as easily as you can pass a scarf in its window display- pretty enough, but you have more important things to think about. And truly, some of my work is beautiful. I wrote a poem about nighttime in eighth grade that my teacher loved, but the students didn't stop to listen to it long enough to check their phones for new texts. Exactly why I'm not partial to the normal teenage ways and those devices mostly- they take away from people's attention spans, because they can't stop to listen to something that they might actually like. But then again, it's not like I would know. No one has read much of my work except me and my teachers and parents. Teachers are open to all my ideas naturally, but my parents- that's a different story.

My parents are extremely strict people- no-nonsense, talk-to-you-later-honey kind of people. They are also ambitious, working day and night to scrap together a living for us, never stopping to do something for anyone but themselves. Even when their free time stretches longer than ten minutes, they can't read in the slightest what I have to offer them.

I guess that, because they are so driven to do something for their family, they refuse to believe that I can do any better than they are, because I am "not as educated as them", so I shouldn't be accomplishing something better than what they can. It makes me mad that they judge me like that, that they refuse to see any of what I do. I never meant it like that, and most definitely not now.

At that moment, as the willows were swaying before me, I hear my mom's footsteps coming out through the door.

"Oh, Nicole, you're not writing that fantasy stuff again, are you?" she asks.

"Yes, I am," I reply, not turning around to face her.

She sighs, sitting down beside me on the bench in our backyard. "I feel sorry for you, honey," she says. "You've become wound up in this fantasy that writing poetry and things will get you to the top of the ladder of success. Haven't you learned anything from what me and your dad have done with our lives? Remember what happened to your great-great grandfather Roy? He wound up in the dumps when he tried going for some silly fantasy that never came."

"Who cares about him? And anyway, look, Mom, what if this is what I want to do?" I ask, continuing to observe the swaying willow branches. I won't turn to her unless she tells me something I don't already know.

My mom wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her. "Nicole, life requires you to do things you do not want to do. Why do you think the phrase 'life is unfair' exists?"

"I know that it exists, and what it means," I say. "But, Mom, you wouldn't know. You haven't read my work in months. You wouldn't know if I have improved or done anything at all for all you care."

"You're being selfish," she sharply says, pulling her arm away from me. "Most English majors only end up as down-in-the-dump teachers, with a string of failures left behind them. We do not want that for you. Can you not see how hard we are working to fix our past mistakes, so that we can live well for the first time in our lives?"

"I'm nineteen, Mom. I've been watching you guys work for just that long. And I have confidence in what I can do. Success might not come right away, but if there's one thing you have taught me is that hard work and sweat can get you there!"

"Good to hear, but remember, Nicole Elizabeth Hudson. Do not say that I didn't warn you."

I simply cannot believe what I'm hearing! I'm nineteen, going to be a sophomore in college, enjoying my craft, and she's telling me that I'm being selfish, that I should listen to her? She doesn't know anything about dreams, and working in the first place for them before the blocks came crashing down. She, nor my dad, have read my work for months, and she was not giving me a chance to prove myself! And to call me by my full name, and ending the sentence like that, she seemed like a corny character from a suspense film. One would think she would have a smoother way to end this conversation. If it even was one at all.

With a snap of my notebook, I hold it beneath my arm and walk inside, stomping through the doorway. I walk past my dad, who is feverishly typing on a laptop, watching the finance channel on mute. He doesn't even look up to see me, but now, it's not like I care about that.

Finally, I make it to my room, which has been emptied of all my personal belongings since I left for college. My bed is covered with a bland white quilt, and just as bland pillow cases. The creamy walls still remain, stripped of all my old posters, with my old desk full of old novels against one wall. The old white canopy is there too, making the bed look like a fantasy tomb bed for a corpse. I guess that theme kind of fits me, because I feel as dead inside as those buried in the downtown cemetery. No one cares, no one wants to, and there's nothing left to do but wait.

Over the spring semester, I had convinced my parents to let me go on a summer trip to England with the other English majors. We would spend all of July there, going on excursions through valleys and cities outside of London, and basically just seeing some sights of the country that had inspired some of the greatest literature that we English majors love so much. I know it will be the experience of my life, after spending so much time alone in Gale for nineteen years. And being among people who love writing and literature as much as I do, that will be a big step-up.

Maybe this time, something good will happen. No city in England is known as the city of love, but it's not like anyone has ever looked at my work with real appreciation and gratitude. Being a romantic writer who writes of love and beauty, it is only natural that I would want someone to love me back. Yes, I'll admit, I am a romantic who dreams of romance and kisses and adoration, and finding that special someone who will sweep me away to happiness and joy. If everyone else can do it, why not I? Then again, that will be easier said than done. Like I said, everyone passes up a girl who can write good poetry like a weak looking sign advertising a great play that no one has ever seen before, but it's still a great show.

England will be a great experience.

I hope.


	3. Into the Forest

Chapter 3 (Nicole)

Wow, what a trip. Spending hours aboard a plane and landing in a whole other country is an experience in itself! The moment that you step off of the plane, and you see that the landscape, architecture, and people are different from your own country, it's like stepping into an adventure about to take flight. The other students are excited- that much I can tell, but my own heart is pounding a thousand beats a minute, taking in such magnificent new sights, things that I have never seen before. Far off in the distance from the airport, I see the buildings of London, stretching to the sky. Above the hustle in the airport, I swear I heard the crowds in the city far off, edging me and the group closer to them.

My fantasy is broken too soon when I heard the chaperones tell us to follow them to the bus, where it takes us fifteen minutes to reach a town on the outskirts of London, where we would check in to the hotel we were staying at. I'm rooming with three other girls, who all immediately begin to settle in, plopping themselves in front of the television to watch a British movie. Me, I'm still too enthralled by the fact that we're here, close to one of the greatest cities in the world, watching the people crowd the streets and seeing the sights of times past. So I sit by the window to observe the city and hopefully gain inspiration. That _is_one of the reasons I came here, and I hope desperately that I won't fail. I could be next in line to write the next great literary epic, all because of what I had seen in London. The idea enthralls me even more, enough that I lose my breath quickly.

A few days pass, and unfortunately, we don't do much of anything, because the chaperones are giving us time to settle in. Settling into the hotel is nice, but I'm about ready to get out and do something, just itching to see sights in all their grand glory and gain some insight on my next idea. It seems like I was the only one who was ready, while my roommates sit in front of the T.V., gossiping, and asking, oh, what kind of guys will we meet here, because yeah, that's right, romances between American girls and British guys are always wonderful to have. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe that was the reason these "English majors" came here- so they could meet British guys and hook up with them for a summer romance, only to be broken apart like Romeo and Juliet; very romantic. Yes, that is, but most definitely _not _the reason _I _came here.

Just when I feel like I'm going to scream from cabin fever, we're finally let out and free to go around London and see the sights with our roommates. We're given maps and brochures of what places we could visit, or we can just go on the guided tours. Tours are nice, but I want to see everything for myself, to get familiar with the city streets and whatnot rather than go at the pace of a tired tour guide. Of course, I'm so anxious to get out the door that when they let us out, I'm up and dressed before my roommates could even lift their legs to get out of bed.

I decide to drag my travel partner to the land outside the city. Outside the city, there are rolling hills and vast forests, blooming green with summer fever. And just outside the hotel, there is a vast clearing, surrounded by a forest that stretched so far, I thought it went past the horizon to the sky. The grassy ground is even broken apart by a tiny stream that runs like a silky blue ribbon into the forest, with a large cobblestone bridge crossing it. Near the bridge is an old chapel, with such lovely Gothic architecture that it looks like it might have come from another century. Vines run up and down the walls, with tall weeds growing around it, so I'm guessing that it was abandoned. It's a real shame, and yet it's not, because the vines make it look like something out of a fairy-tale, like a wizard or a necromancer might live there.

"You're on your own, girl," my partner says. "I'm going back into the city, so you can sit here and write your poetry or whatever."

I just shrug in reply, letting her go on while I edge closer to the clearing with notebook and pencil in hand. My mind begins to race with what I could write about this place, ideas becoming clearer to me the closer I get. I'm careful to watch where I step, with all the large tree roots and rocks sprouting from the ground.

Now that I'm inside the clearing, I observe the sights further. The grass is whispering under my feet whenever I take a step, and the trees are glimmering under the summer sun, rays raining down between the leaves as though from heaven. And beneath the sun, the windows in the chapel sparkle, sending off bright light.

It strikes me as an amazingly beautiful sight watching all this happen, and my mind races even further. Images of what I could create just by seeing this chapel are making my heart beat faster and my senses jump into overdrive. Without knowing it, I begin to sprint towards the chapel, coming closer to the bridge, my dark hair lifting all the way off my shoulders like a chocolate flag with my speed.

My footsteps thunder on the ground, driving me so fast I forget to watch my step; I just have to get up close to that chapel. And all too suddenly, all thoughts are dashed from my head as my foot meets a loose cobblestone in the bridge, and my head made unforgiving contact with the stones. My notebook and pencil fly from my hands, and I can barely hear a splashing sound as pain splinters throughout my body. My eyes shut, and everything turns dark, a blue haze shining through my eyelids. I'm in too much pain to wonder what the heck it was, but I soon don't wonder at all as I slip away, only listening to the haunting melody of cawing crows, growing louder…and louder…louder…


	4. A Strange Woman

Chapter 4 (Victor)

I awaken to a beautiful day, the sun shining white into my eyes. Immediately, I'm ready to rise from sleep and dress myself, so that I can sit down to my artwork.

Just as I'm climbing from the bed, my mother pounds through the doorway, waddling towards me.

"I was presuming you would be getting up sometime today," she says, pulling me towards my dressing chest. "Come quickly, Victor. Get dressed and come downstairs. It's a beautiful day outside, and a good day for you to help us gain some."

Somehow, I'm surprised I didn't see it coming.

Before I can open my mouth to object, she pulls out a brown suit and presses it into my hands before leaving, never giving me a moment to speak against her plans. But then again, she wouldn't have approved of what I would say. So, I undress from my nightshirt, and into the suit, never once glancing at my desk, where I was so hoping I could go after I was dressed. But, to no avail.

"Hurry up, Victor!" I hear my mother screech from downstairs.

As though I am under her influence, I scramble down the stairs, almost tripping in doing so, but my long, spindly legs are always doing that to me if I'm in a hurry. Not something I am particularly proud of either, but that came when I was tall and lanky.

Once I get myself under control, I take a step outside, where Mayhew and the other fishmonger are already at work, using a large, frightening knife to slice the fishes' heads from their bodies, sliding the bodies into a large basket. Mayhew stares ahead, smoking a pipe. I frown at him, feeling sorry for the poor fellow. It's not a wonder that he coughs so often; that pipe is giving him his troubles.

My thoughts disappear quickly when Mother gives me an apron, one that has a drawing of a fish, with the van Dort name written above it in large, fancy script. She gently pushes me towards the small table where the fish are cut in half, where I can feel a tiny stomachache boiling inside me. I wince as Mayhew cuts off another head, and I watch the flesh peel from the body. Thank goodness my mother didn't see it, or she would have kept me busy with another lecture. I do not need any of that from her.

"Work hard, and watch how they do it," she says. "Good day." With that, she trots back inside, without so much as a glance backwards.

I heave a deep sigh, dreading what I was about to do. Mayhew steps aside so I can watch him pull the fish from one basket and place it, on its side, onto the table. Then, the fishmonger quickly cuts the head from the fish, and slides it into another basket. They perform their tasks over and over in a kind of mechanical way, never faltering in their work. I do not like it; it lacks life and excitement, how I feel whenever I am drawing something by the bedroom window. And, to think that I'd be doing this for the rest of my life once my parents had passed on.

Forcing myself onward, I pull a fish from the bag and slap it onto the table. While the fishmonger does his work, I pull out another fish. And then another fish. And another. And another.

I only helped to produce a few fish, and it already seems like hours since I had started. I don't dare complain, as I know that I will get in trouble for so much as opening my mouth against this.

Gradually, the process becomes more tedious. Sometimes, I try to imagine myself drawing a fish, swimming along in a great river. I have read of fish living in the river Thames in London, but have never seen drawings of them. Perhaps I could draw some of these fish, and place them in environments unlike what they usually have. I don't think I've ever done something of that kind before, but the idea excites me greatly.

For several moments, I consider what I can do if I am going to attempt something so new, and with the mechanical work I am doing with the fish, my mind begins to wander far away. Swirls of lines and black patterns fly through my thoughts like a swarm of bumblebees, flying high and low in different images; the environment in which the fish could be. I began to see white too, when little flakes of snow start to fall, speckling my brown suit with white. I seem to be the only one to notice the change in the weather, because Mayhew and the fishmonger never look up or stop to brush the snow from their clothes.

I glance up to look around, and notice that several townspeople passing by are pulling up their coat collars and tying scarves around their necks, quickening their pace through the streets. A storm is probably in the air, because the wind begins to pick up, whistling through the balconies and storefronts. I shiver, pulling my coat around me. It's a shame that my parents aren't out here to notice this snow. If they have any mercy left, perhaps they will allow us to cease work for a while. Wishful thinking.

Suddenly, my eyes stop on something- some_one_- in the close distance. There is a girl- a woman- walking down the cobblestone street in the strangest clothes I had ever seen. She is a woman, and yet, she is wearing blue trousers. A solid blue shirt covers her upper body, tight against her slim figure, underneath a coat made of a faded kind of blue leather I have never seen before. She has long dark hair, which falls around her shoulders like a silken veil made of melted chocolate. Even from this far away, her eyes are shining with a blue tint to them, blue as the Atlantic itself. Although she is dressed so oddly, her beauty is astounding, much above the stiff women I have seen in town.

A cold breeze slowly lifts her hair away from her chest, and I notice that she has a silver key around her neck, hanging from a silver chain. It's a plain skeleton key, but seeing a woman make such a statement in clothes like that is all the more astounding to me. She's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, with an unsure expression, but a confident stride, never faltering although she looks a little lost. She puts her arms around her shoulders, possibly trying to keep out of the cold air. She must be frozen to the bone.

I gaze at her for several moments, until suddenly, she looks at me. As quickly as she had, I look away, back to the fish on the cart.

The blue in her eyes have caught me; I'm a little afraid of them, knowing that she has seen me. Still, I hope that she would come over to the vendor cart, so I could ask her who she was. Perhaps I can come to know her, and we can be friends. I hope she doesn't mind that I like art...


	5. A Skittish Stranger

Chapter 5 (Nicole)

My eyes snap open, and for a long moment, I feel like I have fallen a great distance, dizzy enough that I can't get up. The stones of the bridge were painful enough, but my body won't let me get up.

Finally, with a strong push, I lift myself off the bridge and suddenly shiver. I cock my head for a second; how is it that cold? The last I remember, it was fifty-nine degrees outside. It's not possible to feel that cold when I'm wearing jeans and a jacket, having come out of summer weather.

A look around confirms my fears. The land around me is dead; no green grass, no leafy trees- nothing but ice, snow and grey all around. The chapel is free of vines and weeds, just standing there in the center of the snowy field like a big grey block. I feel like I have fallen into a winter parody of the little city outside London and beyond, where everything has changed from summer to winter, free of cheer and light. The sky is white with clouds, and gives everything that grey hue that makes it so lonely.

I have to be dreaming. How can everything change so suddenly that I never saw it? I had been knocked unconscious, so maybe that would explain why I never saw it happen.

But then this is, in a way, kind of a lovely sight, despite how dead it looks. I wonder suddenly if maybe I can merge what I saw before and what I see now, and turn it into an epic poem. Perhaps about the change of seasons, and what might happen to a poor spirit girl as she wanders through the seasons, waiting for something to come of her.

Yes! That's it! And the city, there it is! She could stare back at it, and wonder what everyone thinks of her being dead, and how they do without her.

My excitement drives me up and away from the bridge and the clearing. This idea makes me excited to get into the city, and see what has changed there. Maybe it would give me some more inspiration for this idea.

I'm shocked when I get inside the city, to see what has changed. The city is nothing but black and white hues, with everyone walking mechanically onward, the same expression on their faces, only moving differently to say hello to one another. It's strange, but then again, maybe the spirit girl could see that the world was moving like a ghostly spirit world without her. This is wonderful; one of the most helpful dreams I've ever had. The town does, in fact, move like a grey spirit world, in which everyone floats along without moving unless making an acknowledgment. People working at vending carts move like robots, making the exact same movements over and over again.

The atmosphere of this place is a little unnerving suddenly, and I shiver again. If I had expected I would end up in a dream that took place in winter I would have brought a heavier jacket, but that's what's unfair about dreams; some seem real enough that you are simply unprepared for them.

As I walk, observing the sights, I try my hardest to keep a confident walk, but now I'm beginning to feel uncertain about this. I'm the only one who moved with a sort of bounce to my step, and I stick out like a sore thumb with my blue outfit against the grays, blacks, browns, and white everyone else wears. Constantly, I take deep breaths to keep myself cool and collected, but that becomes harder when snow begins to fall, blowing in my face with the winter wind. My hair blows away from my face, and I huddle in my arms, trying to keep out the cold, but I already know it's no use. My eyes zip around, looking for a place to wait out the storm, and they fall upon a brown-haired young man at a fish vendor's cart who looks away the moment I glance at him. I look away too, trying to keep my focus ahead to search for a hiding place. That would be a hard task in this weather. Luckily, I notice that the fish vendor's cart is located under a low balcony- shelter!

I stride over to the vendor's cart, hoping to find some shelter there. And indeed as I come over, the snow lets out a little, but when I'm just inches away, I bump into something, or someone rather, passing on the street. My body swerves to the side, trying to grab the cart to stop my fall, but the corner of the cart sears across my palm, sharp as a needlepoint. I fall to the ground, and my hand comes crashing to the cobblestones with it. I don't react; all I can do is sit and look at my palm, which is bleeding from a long and deep diagonal cut. Blood seeps onto my arm and hurts, a whole lot!

The young man jumps back and finally bends down. "Are you- you, all- all right?" he stammers. He seems to struggle with asking me the question, like he's afraid of me. Or is it the cut and the blood he's scared of? I can't tell from his expression, but his big eyes clearly are concerned.

"I think so," I say, still staring at the cut. "But this is kind of…cut open-"

"J-just hold a minute," the man says, standing up. He speaks briefly to the hunchbacked man next to him, who just nods, looking sleepy as he smokes a pipe. The young man then bends down and helps me to get up, although he's slow doing it. I feel kind of bad for him, as he seems a little bit skittish at helping me recover from my accident. Still, he is doing me a good favor, and maybe isn't as stiff as the other townspeople I have seen.

He grasped my arms, and gently leads me inside, seeming to try and keep his distance. He doesn't make eye contact with me, so I wonder again what I'm doing that's making him so nervous. Does seeing blood scare him a little? Is he afraid of _me_?

"Um, it's okay," I say, breaking the ice. "I don't bite."

"I know," he says. "I-I apologize for what happened. I never realized how dangerous that cart was. I suppose, i-if I k-knew, then I never would have ag-greed to become a f-fish merchant."

I relax, glad that he's capable of talking to me. "Is it that awful?"

"It's…it's…" He stops there, hanging his head a little.

"Really, it's okay," I say. "Don't feel bad about anything. It was an accident out at the cart. Am I scaring you or something like that?"

The man shakes his head. "It's…hard to say. I'm…well, I'm...nervous about meeting women. They…there is…something about them. I'm worried that I might...disappoint them. That perhaps I won't be…respectable enough."

I chuckle. "You? Scared of women? Even you could stand against the worst of them," I note, thinking of my roommates back in England.

"Thank you." The man finally looks at me, and says his words with confidence.

Finally, he stops me in a tiny kitchen where he helps me into a chair. He crosses over to a cupboard and pulles out a roll of white medical tape. He comes back to me and unrolls it, wrapping it gently around my hand.

"Does that hurt?" he asks.

When I shake my head, he proceeds to wrap the white cloth around my hand, smoothing it out as he goes; he fumbles here and there, still a little nervous, but performs well to stop the bleeding. When he finishes, he snaps the tape with a tug of his hand, and smooths his finished work on my hand.

"Thank you so much," I say, gazing at the bandage on my hand

"You're welcome," the man says.

There's silence between us as he stands up to put the tape back. He turns from closing the cupboard and takes a silent breath, as though preparing to speak. Gee, he must really not like being around women.

"Do I…do I know you?" the man asks.

"No, I don't think so," I reply, shaking my head.

He turns to me, and bows politely. "I'm…Victor van Dort," he says.

With a little yelp of surprise, I get up and bend my knees in a T-shape behind me, imitating a skirt-less curtsy. "I'm Nicole Hudson. It's good to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss...Hudson," Victor adds, rising from his bow.

"No, please, just call me Nicole," I say. I mean to make eye contact, but my eyes wander past him to a little piece of paper sitting near a window. Thick and thin lines, and shading come together to form a sketch of a little bird. Its wings are folded, but its beak is pointed up towards the sky, as though watching for something in the sky. On its belly, there's a long tear through the paper.

I cross the room to look at the picture, picking it up from the counter. When I do, I notice what true artistic quality it has, with the strong shading and realistic appearance. It is exquisite, just the kind of art that I like.

"Is this yours?" I ask, handing Victor the picture.

"Yes, it…it is," he answera. "But how did it get down here? It's supposed to be up in my…" He glances towards the stairs and back at the picture before frowning. "Oh, my mother. She has done it yet again."

"What?" I wonder aloud.

"My mother, well, both my parents- they discourage me from making drawings like this. They seem to think that it's…beneath me, that I should rather be out there, chopping fish. But that's not what I want to do."

"You and me both," I agree. "They sound just like mine."

"They do?" He looks at me with astonishment, like I said I was royalty.

"My parents, yes. They don't listen to me, and they think that my writing won't get me anywhere but a 'string of failures one after the other'." I cross my arms when I think of my parents, how much they disapproved of my work before they had ever read it.

"You're a writer? A novelist?" Victor says.

"Yeah, well, not yet. I prefer writing poetry- romantic poetry if you will. It's my strongest gift- next to being the shyest girl at home."

Victor doesn't speak for a minute, but comes closer to me so he can see the picture in my hands, standing close enough for me to see that he's half a head taller than I am. "What can you write?"

"Oh, all kinds of things- adventure, nature, beauty, romance," I answer. "Unfortunately, everyone takes it like it should be avoided like the Plague, and henceforth, no one has so much as looked at it." I sigh in deep lament. "They judge it before they read it."

"People feel the same about my drawings," he admits. "My parents are so incredibly disapproving that they cannot seem to stand the sight of me drawing. I'm only supposed to help with the fishmongers all day. Perhaps the...rest...of my life."

I turn and put my arms to the side so fast that the drawing snaps in my hands. "They can't do that. This could be the nineteenth century sort of time, but they shouldn't be telling you what you can and cannot do. Take it from someone who has been ignored all their life only to have their talent recognized when it is nearly too late!"


	6. Friends

Chapter 6 (Victor)

Truly this is one extraordinary girl. She dresses like a man, appears out of thin air, and seems interested in art. But what is it about her that made me act how I did? Is it because she is a woman to whom I wanted to make a good impression, or maybe because her patience and beauty amaze me more than I already am? Despite all this, she is still quite remarkable.

What is even more remarkable is her unwavering, passionate interest in my artwork. Any woman that I've ever met would have dismissed it. But this woman- Nicole- makes it seem as though it were made by angels. Is it truly that wonderful to her, or is she being kind to me to make me feel as though it actually is wonderful? And what of her being timid, like me? Is it possible for a woman to be like that?

The way Nicole looks at the drawing, how her eyes glance at every detail, and how her breathing slows considerably, thrills me beyond belief. No one has ever looked at my work that way. Strangely, I begin to feel as though my shoes have either grown taller, or it is my own feelings. It's hard to tell, but it seems as though all the old feelings of loneliness and disapproval and discouragement are instantly gone, all because of Nicole's one statement of liking.

And if Nicole likes it, that means that someone else can too. Actually, I'm beginning to think that she can help me do something. She seems to be a competent woman, and perhaps can help me to convince my parents not to bring me into continuing the line of van Dort fish merchants. Nicole is proof that artistic people can survive the cruel nature of society and come out all right in the end.

But, will she do this? For me?

I sweep some dust from my suit sleeve and prepare to speak my mind. "Look, Nicole, if I could ask you a favor, would you do it?"

She looks at me, her eyebrows wrinkled as though in thought, and then nods her head. "Oh, sure, Victor. What is it, exactly?"

"Well, you see, my parents want me to follow behind them in our family business as a fish merchant. And, frankly, I think it is a rather tedious job, and something that I really don't want to do. My artwork is what I love doing best, and is what makes me content, so…I am asking a great favor from you. W-will you help me convince my parents to l-let me go?" I wait anxiously for a reply, whether or not she will help me. I bite my tongue for the stammering. If only I had been a little more straightforward and smooth, then perhaps she will be more inclined to accept.

Nicole takes a deep breath, and looks me in the eyes. I nearly look away, but in waiting for an answer, I keep my eyes on hers. "Yes, I'll do my best. You and me working together to fight for our beliefs, nothing's going to stop us!"

My own heart leaps up into my throat, and I nearly crumple to the floor in my joy at her reply. With the right luck now, I can escape this conformity, and be free, for the first time in my life. And Nicole- she understands how I feel, and I understand how she feels. We could be good friends.

"Victor!"

The two of us jump at the sudden sound. I sigh heavily and turn to Nicole. "You stay right here," I say. "I'll go find my mother." When she nods, I quickly leave the kitchen, dreading what Mother will say to me for leaving my place for so much as a minute. I'm certain that I'm in for one of Mother's lectures about walking away from duty, but I try not to think of it. What comes to mind is how sooner or later, Nicole and I would go up against the power of this society to see that no one can keep us from our dreams, particularly me from mine.

I come to find Mother and Father standing beside Mayhew at the vendor's cart, neither looking entirely pleased. Father seems only mildly displeased, but Mother looks outraged. I tense where I am, waiting for the outburst she's bound to have.

"Victor, what on earth do you think you were doing, walking off duty?" she say, sounding as though she is boiling under the surface. "Clearly, you do not take this situation seriously."

"Now, Victor, listen to your mother," Father adds, tapping his cane on the ground. "You're of age to do what your obligations call for, and that is to listen." He seems to strain his voice when he whispers "listen", and I realize he sounds desperate about what I should do. Although, I do have to use some strength not to frown at them; this talk would become as old and tiresome as they are very soon.

I peer past them at Mayhew and the fishmonger outside. Mayhew shrugs at me and takes another breath into his pipe. I frown, disappointed, at him. That pipe just never leaves his mouth, and might get the poor fellow into trouble one day.

"Victor, are you listening?" Mother asks sharply.

I stand at attention quickly and nod.

"That's our good little boy," Mother says. "Now get out there and back to work."

"Just a minute," I cut in, "I have to get something from inside."

Mother heaves a big sigh and opens her fan, which she begins to wave at herself. "If you must, but just come back out when you're through." She turns around and walks through the doorway, disappearing around the corner into the parlor. Father gives me a pleading look before he hobbles off after her.

I breath a sigh of relief and rush back to the kitchen to find Nicole. She is still sitting in her chair, resting her head on her hand. She lifts her head when she sees me come in.

"Your parents, right?" she asks.

"Yes, my parents," I answer. "Look, N-Nicole, I really need to get back outside, or my mother will start to get a little angry. I-I'm sorry I have to ask you to go so quickly, it's just…"

"Don't worry about it, Victor," Nicole says. She stands up and reaches out her un-bandaged hand. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, and…I hope to see you soon."

I hesitate just a moment, confused that she doesn't bend down in a curtsy, but I take her hand in a handshake. It amazes me how bold she is. "Me too," I reply. "Follow me."

I lead her back outside, looking around every couple of moments to be sure no one pays attention to Nicole, who walks away, regaining her confident stride down the street.

As I put my apron back on, Mayhew surprises me by removing his pipe from his mouth and turning to me. "A kind lady, Master Victor?" he asks in his quiet, raspy voice.

"Oh, yes, a very kind l-lady," I answer. I lift my eyes to watch her go further down the street, entirely visible now that the snow has gone away. Her dark hair bounces as she walked, and slowly, she turns to look back. This time, I have just enough strength to look at her eyes for over one second, somehow able to keep watching until she is around the corner.

Even as I begin to take fish after fish from the basket, I still can't believe it- a woman, in this city, who shares my interest in the romantic works of literature and art. Truthfully, I thought I would never live to see the day when that would happen, and that day was today! And not a terrible looking woman either.

When I glance at the corner Nicole had turned around, I suddenly feel a sharp pang of worry. Nicole had mentioned she wanted to see me again, but when? And worse- when would I get the chance to see her again, without Mother or Father having to reprimand me later on? The chances of getting out of that are impossible, it seems, and I find myself slumped over the chopped fish in disappointment. I feel angry inside for not ever having thought of when I could ever see Nicole, and when she could see me. My first chance of having one true friend, and it's unlikely that I will spend time with her again soon. Maybe never.


	7. New Dress

Chapter 7 (Nicole)

All this walking makes me exhausted, enough that I have to stop and sit next to a darkened alley between two tall buildings, despite my fear of what might be hidden in there. I consider keeping walking, but walking in the cold winter air for so many hours is too much now.

I am glad though, because sitting down will give me a chance to think for a while. Despite my exhaustion, I'm jumping around inside. Finally, I met someone who cared about my passion as a romantic writer, and for once, it was not stomped on, dismissed or called any uniquely bad names. I'm breathless with excitement over this ordeal, my heart skipping beats every once in a while, pumping my blood fast enough that for just a minute, the cold doesn't mean anything.

One thing disappoints me, though. Why does a wonderful person like Victor have to be inside this dreamland of mine? It's like my sleepy mind is trying to torture me, by giving me an ideal friend who has the same interests as me, and then making him go away as soon as I wake up, back to modern day life, and never to dream about this place ever again. The very thought makes me want to scream, but I don't. First of all, I'm in the middle of a city looking like a man with my jeans and shirt, having drawn enough attention already without a sound from my mouth. Second, I do not have a place, much less a home, to go to when it gets dark so I will have to be careful, even though I feel that I'm dreaming and nothing can hurt me.

In this final resolution, I take a breath and stand up from where I sit, deciding to first, find some clothes. My hope deflates when I realize that I'm unlikely to find a dress lying around somewhere, much less a dress that I could buy, because I have no cash on me. It's ridiculous, but I'm determined to find a dress to make me blend in, even if it take me the rest of the day, but hopefully not too far into the night.

Taking another breath, I peek behind me and into the alley. It's dark, but seems a good place for someone to place some junk, even a dress. I walk down it, taking cautious steps so as not to stir anything, but when I get to the other end, I come through empty-handed.

As much as it scares me, I decide to keep to the back alleys, where no respectable person would see me without the right clothes. Dingy penthouses shot up on either side of me, with clotheslines connecting them weakly. The clothes waver in the cold breeze, and I'm hoping none of them will fall down on me, but, that's the least of my worries. I just hope there are no gangs or crooks running around on this side of town. I figure that if I'm dreaming, then surely my mind would conjure those crooks you see all the time in dramatic gang movies that take place in slum alleys. Luckily, I donn't see anything or anyone for a while.

Much to my dismay, I come across a group of rowdy teenage boys throwing an old teapot around in a game of catch. I try to walk past them like they don't see me, but I know it won't work, even as I still try to keep a confident pace.

"Hey, you, yeah you in the blue! Come on, join the party!" one of the boys call.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I say. "I'm looking for something."

"Yeah, so what is this you're looking for?" the same boy calls. "Maybe we could find it for you?"

Don't trust them. They're just looking for that one thing from me, and I have no intention whatsoever of giving it to _them_.

"You looking for this?" another calls.

I turn around, finally, to see what they're offering, if they even are. When I do, I see that they are holding a big blue dress, a little ragged at the hem, but still in okay shape. I immediately see my chance to obtain it, but I'm nervous of what they will ask for me so I could have the dress.

"Yes, that's what I'm looking for," I say cautiously, turning and stepping towards the boys. "Say, do you chaps think I could have that dress?"

The boy holding it starts to hand it to me, but then snatches it away. "Hold it a minute,_ lady_," he says, noting how I'm dressed. "What's in it for us?"

Oh, boy. "Well, what do you want?"

All the boys look me down from head to toe, all remaining silent. The head boy finally says, pointing at my chest, "What's say we give you, this dress, in exchange for that key of yours? You never know what a key like that can unlock."

"Don't touch it," I say, backing away.

"Aw, and now what," the boy taunts, "you using it to keep your belt safe and locked up? I think we can keep it safe for you. That way, you'll never have to worry about the wrong man doing it to you."

"How about something else?" I ask, trying to change the subject. There's no way I'm going to give up the key that hung from my neck; it's something that had belonged to my great-grandmother. It's special, and a couple of rough-and-tumble boys would have no use for it.

The head boy steps up to me again, and begins to reach for my pants. "You got a chast'ty belt hidden under there. And me thinks that key unlocks it!"

"What?" I ask, jumping away in total shock. "No!" Who do these boys think they are? If I weren't so uncertain of this, I would smack him silly!

"Then there's no deal," the boy says. Still, he reachs for my jeans zipper and tries to unzip it. Quickly thinking, I punch him in the nose, and grab the heavy dress from the other boy. The boys scream out after me as I ran off.

I duck behind another wall and hope the boys won't follow me. They run off in the opposite direction, while I stand there taking heavy breaths. That was close. Any hesitation, and I would have been done for getting a dress.

I edge further along the wall and into the shadows, looking at the dress. It's large and heavy, the skirt and bodice made of sky blue silk. A white waistband circles the waist, ending in a tied bow at the back. Two rows of lace line up in a V from the waist to the collar, which ended just at my throat. It's a lovely dress, but a little ragged, probably from being handled by those boys.

Satisfied with myself, I creep further into the shadows till I'm completely hidden. I undress from my old clothes and slip into the dress; of course, I nearly strain myself trying to lace up the back, but I succeed in getting the job done. Next, I try walking in it, and find to my great surprise, that it's pretty easy. Without a corset or anything to keep it large and poufy and tight, it's as comfortable as wearing any other dress back home.

Leaving my old clothes in the alleyway, I walk out from the alley, making my way through the streets, which are now dark with nightfall. I notice that the townspeople are in excited clusters, probably on their way to parties or celebrations. I also begin to notice that windows are lighting up with candlelight and filled with the sounds of merrymaking. It makes me wonder what might be happening in England, where my roommates are probably watching another silly British soap opera and swooning about another handsome guy onscreen.

Soon enough, I arrive at the street where the van Dort vendor's cart is, but it's empty. Neither Victor nor anyone else is there, and the house is dark, except for a tiny glow coming from an upstairs bedroom. The glow reflects off the windows, flickering gently in the darkness. I can see a shadow on the walls and ceiling- a heart-shaped head sitting atop a spindly neck. I grin when I think of Victor, drawing something on his parchment. At least he's safe up in his room, able to draw while his parents are in bed and out of the way. That's what I like about the nighttime hours- they have no power over the imagination, just those who are too stiff and tired to chase a new dream. I sometimes write during the late hours of the night, when my parents are asleep and not there to tell me I can't do it; some of the best times of my life.

Once I'm out of my reverie, I glance ahead of me, and notice two wooden cellar doors peeking out of the darkness. I cross over to them, and notice that luckily, there's no padlock or chain to keep them shut. Locking two hands together on one of the handles, I pull the door open and step down inside, shutting the door behind me.

Inside, I'm happy to find that the cellar is completely empty, except for a couple of crates, probably filled with fish. For a minute, I consider sleeping on top of the crates, but recoil when I think of going out the next day and smelling like fish. And it's not like I can take a bath at any random time, so I make myself somewhat comfortable in the corner opposite the crates on the cold cellar floor. I wrap my arms around me, laying my head gently on the floor. Between deep breaths and relaxing thoughts, the cellar is quiet as I fall asleep.


	8. Discovery of the Key

Chapter 8 (Victor)

I don't expect anything different to happen the next morning. The moment that I rise from the bed, Mother comes in and tells me to immediately get outside, after breakfast. Truthfully, it seems as though she never stops trying to get me into the business as fast as she can. It's sad how some people are ambitious enough that how others felt did not matter to them.

Of course, I don't say a word on the matter as I dress myself and go down the stairs to breakfast, and finally, out to the cart with Mayhew and the fishmonger waiting for me. In the same, solemn matter, I begin to work with them.

Fortunately, I'm kept afloat in the dreadful work by thinking that, by some miracle, I will come across Nicole again. If she doesn't walk too far off, there is a chance that she will come by; she say she hoped she will see me again, and the moment I remember this, it becomes difficult to suppress the urge to smile. I'm able to keep these secret feelings hidden for a while, but as the morning becomes afternoon, they are beginning to evaporate, despite my best efforts to remain optimistic.

"Hello," a voice suddenly says, breaking the silence.

I jump back into the wall, dropping the fish I'm holding out to Mayhew. Stumbling backwards, I try to regain my footing, and picking up the fish I had dropped. Putting it back on the table, I stand still. "Forgive me, Mayhew," I say.

"It's quite all right, Master Victor," he says, removing the pipe from his lips. "It's your lady."

I look up, into the surprised face of Nicole. She has her hand to her heart, and her blue eyes are wide. Immediately, I feel sorry for scaring her so.

"M-my apologies, Nicole," I stammer, brushing the dirt off my sleeves. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She shakes her head. "I guess I should've known you don't like surprises," she says, chuckling.

"I suppose not," I say with an embarrassed smile.

Nicole steps up to the cart, putting her hands behind her back in a ladylike fashion. "Anyway, I came by, and is wondering if maybe, later, when you had the chance, you will like to take a walk, with me?" She presses her lips together after speaking.

I try to think fast. Will it matter to my parents if perhaps I took a short walk with a young woman?

Wait, with a young woman…

I nearly grin as a perfect idea comes to me. If I went in the city, with a young woman, then they will believe that I am out seeking a possible someone to marry. They will not mind if I away from this work because of that, will they? I don't think so.

I quickly turn to Mayhew. "Mayhew, can you do me another favor? If my parents should ask where I am, tell them that I am out seeing which young ladies might be worthy of being my wife?" When Mayhew nods, I give him a sure smile, to be certain that I can trust him with this favor. I certainly hope I can, because this next step is important; and the sooner I can convince my parents that simply being a fish merchant is not what I have in mind, the better.

"Where shall we go, Nicole?" I ask her.

"Go get your quill and parchment, because I'm thinking art, writing, and sightseeing," she replies with an anxious grin.

She read my mind.

Rushing through the doorway, I come back out just seconds later with, instead of a quill and parchment, a sketchbook and drawing charcoal, all inside a thin portfolio case. I slip out of my apron, and lead Nicole out onto the street, taking my first step into freedom.

We pass several on the street before Nicole speaks up. "Seems a little…dead, on the streets today. Are the people here always this stiff?"

"You have no idea," I answer. "Everything here is about money and stature. You know how my parents are trying so hard to change me."

"And you don't want that for your future," she finishes for me.

"Right. It-it's all the worse too, that besides becoming a fish merchant, I have to marry soon."

"Oh, glorious. And who's the lucky girl?" Nicole asks. "Or, are your parents arranging it for you?"

"There is no woman," I reply. "And goodness, I hope I don't end up in an arranged marriage. Because, that is what will happen if I don't find a bride soon."

Nicole winces, drawing her hands into fists at her sides. "How soon?"

"In a couple of months, a-at the most," I say, shivering as I thought of it. "I'm nervous to find out what shall come of all this, w-whether I'll find anyone at all."

"Well, I sure hope you do," Nicole says. "I mean, you don't deserve to have this brought on yourself. It's unfair, is all."

"Exactly."

"But what I don't understand, is how you can be the only one in this city who can look art and literature in the face and see it for its beauty, instead of its worthlessness. What has come upon this society that makes it so uptight about what artistic people have to offer? It's…it's like they think of us as ugly animals that need to be killed quickly, despite what worth we might have. I just don't get it."

I nod at every word Nicole says. Her outlook on this society is extraordinarily true, and the way she says it makes it seem as though she is speaking to a great crowd of people instead of just me. The passion drips from every sentence, and it surprises me that no one else hears her great emphasis on why this society is so unforgiving towards people like her and me.

"I suppose…it's …" It took me some time to wonder about that.

"Yeah," she agrees. "But you know, whatever it is, the two of us are one of a kind. I guess, well…I guess that it doesn't matter that the rest of society here isn't like us. We're different, and that's what makes us so unique."

"And I suppose that, for all I know, I can be the most…artistically competent in the city, and I can…create…create the next great tablecloth for the Queen that people will fall over so much that…even her lowliest servant can appreciate it?" I chuckle with joy, thinking of what it will be like for such a thing to happen.

Nicole laughs heartily. "You're right. No one can match what the two of us can do here."

"Because…we are one of a kind." I speak with such confidence that I found I'm not fumbling in my step anymore. Beside Nicole, the two of us must appear to be proud owners of a company that had just recently become the greatest on the European market.

That is how we spend the walk through the town, talking and laughing like I never have in my life. Truth to be told, I haven't laughed so that my whole self feels incredibly alive in a long time, maybe years. Some of the stories Nicole tells me, like watching a cruel girl she knew fall into a pool of mud with a loose bird's nest above her head, gives me such a laugh that she has to hold me up so we can both keep from laughing to our deaths.

Finally, we come to a part of the town that I haven't seen in many years. The town's park, with its trees and snow-covered benches has become a playing ground for a few children and for their parents to make conversation. It seems like a perfect place to observe, and perhaps draw some of the lively things taking place there.

And sometime later, Nicole and I are rested against a tree in the corner, watching and listening to what is happening all around us. Unfortunately, I find it difficult in drawing the children playing, as they can never sit still for more than a second. And then, I see one of the earliest signs that this cruel winter will be over soon- a little blue moth fluttering in the air. It has four white circles on its wings, bold against its bright blue color. I begin to draw circles on the paper, becoming the tender wings, but it's hard to capture the entire picture, because it keeps moving from place to place- around the tree, and then into its branches.

At last, I decide to move on to something different, it being too difficult to draw the moth moving in so many different places. Looking around a while, I see the key hanging from around Nicole's neck, like a tiny sliver of light against the blue of her dress. It shines brighter when the snow reflected off its silver surface, sparkling divinely, and in that moment, I see the perfect thing to capture.

Starting fresh on a new page in the sketchbook, I begin to make little strokes across the page, slowly beginning to take the shape of a silver key, against a black background of shadows.

"N-Nicole?" I ask.

She looked up from what she is writing. "Yeah?"

"Tell me, what is so special, about that key?" I ask her. "It's rather beautiful."

She looks down, and picks it up in her fingers. "Yes, it is. Well, it belonged to my great-grandmother. She told me that when she was my age, no one could understand her either. She found this key in her attic, and even though she didn't know what it unlocked, she decided that she could wear it to show that she could still be unlocked, and that she was in charge of her future. She told me that we can unlock any door, if we have the key. This is the key."

"Have you worn it for your whole life?" I ask.

"I found it in her house just after she died. In her room, she had a little box, and that is where she kept it. While she was dying, she told me to have it, and give it to the person that can unlock me. She saw how I was struggling to find a friend who can bring out more of myself than I ever could alone. And then…" Nicole stops, clutching the key inside her fist. She looks at the snow at her feet, and slowly, her cheeks turn pink, then red.

I put down my sketchbook, and gaze at Nicole's eyes, which close, and start to spill over with tears. Tenderly, I reach down, and touch her hand. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I never should have brought it up."

"You don't know," Nicole says, reaching up to wipe her face. "My great-grandmother is the only friend I ever had, the only one who ever understood me."

At hearing my friend suffer like this, I begin to wrap my fingers around hers, but never holding her hand. I feel awful for making her cry, and I want to embrace her, to show her how sorry I am. Still, I keep my distance, just touching her hand, willing to give her strength again.

Nicole breathes deeply, sniffing one last time. "It's okay. I've gotten over her, but I can still remember what she did for me. I keep this key for her, and for the one who can love me for me. It's silly, I know, but it's what I believe."

"No, not at all," I say. "No doubt she is a wonderful person."

I feel Nicole nod her head under my chin, and then she breaks away to regain her writing. She straightens herself against the tree, and begins to write some words. "Still, thank you."

Her words catch me off guard for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Comfort. That's what you're giving me. No one has ever been there to give me that, especially when I'm sad about being all alone. My parents blamed the writing I did, but they are never right. And finally, here you are to help me in my time of need."

I smile at her. For the first time, I feel as though I have done something good for someone else. Except for when I draw at my desk, I feel like the only purpose of my life is to fill the void my parents will leave after they left their business to me; that the reason I'm around is to continue bringing good money and fortune to a family who is beginning to care about only that. But now, to bring friendship, and comfort, to a lovely young woman, I'm filled with a feeling I rarely ever feel. I cannot place the name of it, but it feels wonderful, to mean something to Nicole that doesn't meant the same thing to anyone else.


	9. Lord Mark

Chapter 9 (Nicole)

There, knowing my friend is beside me I feel happier than I have in a long time. Victor gives me more comfort than my parents ever did in their lives, and took me under his wing when no one else but my great-grandmother could. Suddenly, a surge of happiness comes over me when I realize that Victor is a true friend, and that I know, without him saying anything, that he will be there through thick and thin. My heart could've sung with the immense happiness I was feeling. I bend down to get my poem again, and keep on writing, and Victor to keep drawing. I flick my eyes onto the paper, and notice the sharp rectangular shapes of the bottom of the key. It's beautiful work, the curves of the handle and shading cutting into the white and shadows of the background. Truly, he has a gift.

I glance up from the drawing, and decide that if I'm going to make this poem more pure and true, I need to observe him from afar. I walke over to a nearby bench, and poise my paper on my lap, pencil in hand. Finally, I flick my eyes back up to Victor, and notice the way he stands against the tree, eyes flicking back and forth between me and his paper, the way he's poised in drawing. In return, I go back and forth from him to my own paper, writing what came to mind in my poem. I hope to get this finished soon, so that in case this really all is a dream, then I can give it to him before I disappeared, as an ode to how his friendship means to me.

"Afternoon, miss," a deep voice suddenly says, cutting me from my reverie.

I quickly turn the paper over in my lap and look up at the man who spoke to me. He's tall too, but probably forty or fifty years old, with slightly gray-blonde hair that curls at the temples, with a huge chin with a cleft and a top hat perched atop his head. His nose isn't long but it's extremely pointy. I'm frightened seeing him at first, but I straighten soon enough, and look him in the eyes.

"Oh, hello, sir," I answer. I try to say something else, but am at a loss for words. He'd come so suddenly, and the way he looked at me left me feeling a little tense somehow.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I think I've forgotten to introduce myself," he says. He bows low. "I'm Lord Mark Prestern. You might not know me, and unfortunately I'm not too well adverse with names." He smiles just a little sheepishly.

Following proper etiquette, I get up and curtsy. "Nicole Hudson," I say, reaching out for a handshake. "Good to meet you, Lord."

"The pleasure is entirely mine, my good lady," Lord Mark cuts in politely. "Now, I say, what a marvelous beauty you are; should not surprise me if you had hundreds of admirers lined up at your doorstep."

"Why, thank you," I say, not quite sure what to think of the man. It seems kind of overbearing, coming over just to tell me that I am a beauty, and being so incredibly suave. Is he trying to impress me? I can't be sure.

"And secretive as well," he adds, glancing at the paper I turned over on the bench. "What do you have written on that paper? A love letter, perhaps?"

I'm hesitant to show it to him, but I lift the paper from the bench and bring it up to eye level for him to see. His eyes go from side to side with the words, and his smile grows all the way up to his ears when he reads it.

"Who is this man?" he asks. "The way you describe your relationship is so very…provocative."

"You really think so?" I ask.

"Of course, lady," he says. "When you marry this man, I'd like to see you at your wedding. I believe you shall make a wonderful wife to him."

I'm caught totally off by his statement. What exactly makes him think that I want to _marry _Victor? Most certainly not. Now I feel stupid showing Lord Mark my poem, because then I wouldn't feel so awkward talking about it. Yes, in my poem, I talked about my relationship with Victor, but when I said "relationship", I meant in how deep and important our friendship was becoming. I never mentioned once that it was _love_, oh God no!

Still, I try to make a point of thanking him, despite that his awkward statement makes a tiny knot start to grow in my stomach. "Thank you, I certainly…hope…so," I say, startled by how unnatural I sounded.

"Are you not feeling well?" Lord Mark asks me, noticing my bad attempt at sounding joyful. "Perhaps you should sit down."

"Maybe I should," I say quietly, half to myself and half to Lord Mark. I slump on the bench and forcefully will Lord Mark's comment out of my mind. I want the awkwardness to end and for this strange lord to leave me alone. The whole purpose of my sitting at the bench is to capture everything I could see about Victor from afar for my poem- alone and without distraction. And sadly, this Lord Mark is stopping me from doing so; he's probably making a feeble attempt to charm me.

I try to think fast, for an excuse for wanting to be alone for a while. But suddenly, my eyes fall upon someone across the park from me. Among the smiling faces of children, neutral faces of chatting adults, the expression I see on that one woman's face is like seeing a purple spot in a sea of white. It stands out from the rest with such melancholy power that all thoughts of speaking to Lord Mark fly from my head.

The woman I see has a round face, perched on top of a thin neck like Victor's, and she wears a large wine red-purple dress that goes to the ground underneath a long brown cloak. She has a petite little nose between two huge, sad eyes, her face crowned by a tight brown bun and a faded hat with a flower on it. She seems to be talking to herself, because her mouth is moving as she pulls her cloak tighter around herself. A cold wind blows against her cloak, and it fans out behind her like a billowing curtain at an open window, revealing her extremely thin figure, and she shivers. Her downcast face is one of such misery that I want to get up and meet her, find out what is wrong. But being here in the company of Lord Mark, I can't simply get up and leave without bidding simple goodbye.

I begin to fall into a state of guilt, that I can't stand and approach the woman and try to help her. Finally, I remember that Lord Mark is there, and suddenly remember that he hasn't said anything to me in the last few minutes. I glance up at him, and notice him looking away into the distance. Instead of the imploring smile, it is now a little devious, like he's thinking of some kind of brilliant idea. I see this as my chance.

"Well then, um, Lord Mark, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but now I must go," I state quickly. I clench my teeth together nervously, hoping that's enough to make him leave.

He seems to be caught off guard for a second, but then, bows to me. He tips his hat and says, "Yes, it has been a pleasure for me as well. Please, lady, do call for me if you should require my assistance. Or my company." And then, with a sure smile, he walks away, with a bouncy but solemn step that only provoked my disinterest in him.

Somehow, I find my gaze following him, but am pulled from my reverie again when I feel Victor come up beside me.

"Who was that?" he asks, tucking his sketchbook under his arm.

"Oh, a lord of sorts- Lord Mark Prestern."

"Hmm. I don't think I've heard of him," Victor says. "I suppose he must be a newcomer to town. I wonder if my parents might know him."

"I don't think it matters," I mutter. "He seems like the type who likes to be overly charming towards women. He was talking to me, and then looked at another woman like she could be another good object of false charm. Not very appealing, really."

Victor glances in the direction I'm looking, and then quietly clears his throat. "Would you like to sit down, Nicole?" he asks, "and see some of my work?"

"By your lead, Master van Dort," I say, curtsying and bowing in an exaggerated way; in fact, I bow so low that I fall forward and onto the ground, hands first. Victor and I laugh before I straighten myself again, and we sit on the bench, but not before Victor freaked out and thought I had hurt myself.

In our laps, he flipps open the cover and he comes to the finished drawing of the key. I notice now that he added exquisite details of my dress and my collarbone just at my throat. The key is now just slightly touched by the two tendrils of lace sewed to the bodice, looking like it's lying in a bed of soft, heavenly cloud strings soft as silk, along with a few strands of my hair, darkly shaded against the light background. It's a lovely piece of work, better than anything I've ever seen by a non-professional. He might as well be, but it's too bad that no one else but me would welcome it.

But, there has to be a place that will accept his work. It's not like the entire city, much less the entire world, is against having an artist coming into their midst. And even in a town this dreary and cold, there has to be at least a studio or gallery, or museum.

My insides flip upside down when I think of it.

"Victor?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be possible, say, for you and me to go down to a museum?" I wonder aloud. "I would love to see what that place has to offer, and maybe, if we can begin plans to get your artwork on display."

Victor's eyes light up like I never saw before, and instantly, I know what his answer's going to be. "Yes, Nicole. After I am outside, I'll wait for my parents to go back inside, and I-I'll meet you at the street corner. I'll lead us there."

"Okay, it's a deal," I say, nodding my head. "And who knows. Maybe the people there will be able to accept your work."

"That is what I've been trying to do," Victor says, turning the page over to a new drawing. "Unfortunately, my parents can't keep me away from work long enough to take a step towards the museum. And now, at last, I can do it."

"Yeah, the both of us will." I give him a devilish grin, and he chuckles sweetly when he looks at my face. I chuckle with him as he shows me some more of his drawings, each even lovelier than the next. It gives me a stomachache thinking that no one but me recognized his gift, almost angry. Still, I try to carry the faith that Victor's work will be accepted by the museum; at least they should be capable of knowing which kind of artwork was good and what was not. And besides that, it's likely that Victor's work could go up against the best of what was already there.

Look out, England. You won't know what hit you until you see it for yourself!


	10. Good Night, Good Night

Chapter 10 (Victor)

Goodness, what a joy this day was; in fact, one of the very best days of my whole life. It's wonderful that Nicole and I got to have it together, that nothing and no one came in our way. Though I admit, the way that Nicole talked about the lord she met, makes me feel strange. She seemed as though she were…_fearful_ of him, as though he might have said something that made her feel uneasy. I'm unsure, but I suppose that is why she is so joyful about seeing my artwork.

Somehow, Nicole's strong belief that the museum we would see might accept my work into their collections is still echoing through my mind like a happy bell. Is she right in her firmness that I will be accepted into the museum? At first, I myself doubted the possibility, but listening to the words over in Nicole's voice suddenly made it true.

What is it about this girl that makes every word she says seem so true, and real? Perhaps it's because she's so confident and strong in her beliefs, able to stand alone when no one else is with her. But then, oh dear, listening to her carry on about her dead grandmother, it felt as though my own heart was breaking, watching the tears fall from her innocent eyes. It's funny. I've only known her for at least a day, and already, she's my very best friend.

Late that afternoon, she and I leave the park, with our creations in hand. At times, I try to peek at what Nicole has in her hand, but every time I do, she tucks it behind her back, and away from where I can see it. Everywhere she hides it, I try to look, but she blocks me at every try. Slowly, I grow anxious in trying to find out.

"Tell me, Nicole," I say, "what are you trying to hide from me?"

"Well, I'm not writing about how I think some of those people in the park have no dignity left," she says, a funny hint in her voice. "It's a little bit of a secret. I'll eventually give it to you to see, but just not now."

"Why not now?" I wonder out loud. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Well sure I do," she answers, looking right in my eyes. "You know I do. It's just…not finished yet, and unfinished work isn't as fascinating as when it's _all_ finished, isn't it?"

I shrug, not knowing the answer. What matters is that, at least one day, she will show me what she is trying so hard to hide. From what Nicole has told me, she's a writer who could meet with the likes of Kipling and Stevenson. And constantly, I find my eyes going back and forth between the cobblestone road and the paper in Nicole's hand. She seems to notice, because she continually takes it out of my sight. Gradually I have to give up trying to see it, and she finally gives me a nod of approval.

By the time we arrive at my home, it is just after sundown, and all the windows are lit up. Mayhew and the fishmonger have gone inside, leaving the cart empty with their aprons folded on top. I swallow hard; Mayhew and the fishmonger only go inside when supper is ready, and that means they are waiting for me. I swallow again when I think of the promise Mayhew made to me, that he would inform my parents where I was if they ever came out to see that I was working hard enough. Of course, he had broken that promise the last time, and it's hard to tell if he had done it again. I become tense when this thought occurrs to me, but I don't tell Nicole.

Carefully, I knock on the door, and suddenly, I hear a rush of footsteps come towards it. It swings open, and before I can say a word of goodbye to Nicole, I am rushed away to the kitchen, where Mother pushes me into a chair and begins to talk on about when and where I should be allowed to walk away. Many times, I glance at Mayhew, who puts his hands behind his back and grins through his pipe. It's pleasing to see that he kept his promise to me, but then, what _had _he told Mother and Father? Did he inform them of what I was doing, that I was "courting a woman"? I don't dare ask him right there, because I know that Mother will only lecture me further, and I am not in the right mind to listen to her carry on more.

At last, when I'm dismissed to return to my bedroom, I run up the stairs and slam the door shut the moment that I'm inside. I glance at my sketchbook, and suddenly I'm surprised that my parents never spotted it. Still, I'm glad they did not, as it would lead to hours of Mother telling me my artwork was wasting the time I could be using to work, or to court a bride. Breathing deeply from my fast run up the stairs, I slip the sketchbook in between the other books on my desk, and glance out the window, gasping when I notice Nicole.

She's still standing outside the door, looking all around her, as though she is searching for something. Immediately, I leap at the chance to say goodbye to her, apologize for being rushed away so quickly. I push open the windows, and leanedown to look at Nicole.

"Nicole!" I call.

She glances in both directions, before she finally looks upward. Her face is shocked, but begins to warm to a gleeful grin. "Oh, Victor, I thought you'd still be downstairs. You didn't get in trouble, did you?"

I glance at the front door, and frown. "Oh, well, t-the usual talk from Mother. She didn't like me going off unexpectedly, but Mayhew kept his promise to explain where I was. I-I don't think that he has told them about you and me yet."

"Why not?" she asks.

I shrug. It's a shame that Mayhew can't ever get out more than ten words without having another coughing fit. And what with Mother dismissing me so quickly, its not as though I could plainly ask him what he had told my parents. Then again, it's unlikely that they would ever listen to me when they are so eager to put me back outside at the cart.

"I don't know, but I hope they can get the news and l-let me be," I say. "It will be a great relief once they know what is happening."

"But please, don't hurt yourself trying to tell them before our outing tomorrow," Nicole pleads. "I'd really hate to go there without my good friend."

"I cannot say that I don't feel the same," I reply. "I can't wait."

"Me too," Nicole adds, nodding and grinning. She and I are quiet for a moment, before she looks to her side, and clears her throat. "Well, I guess we'd better get some rest, if we're going to have the experience of a lifetime seeing the museum."

"The experience of many lifetimes," I add.

Nicole chuckles, and graciously puts her hands behind her back. "It's a little silly but…" She curtsies and her face forms the sweetest smile I have ever seen. "Good night. Good night," she whispers. She twirls around and walked off into the night.

"Good night," I call after her, and she looks back once more before she disappears completely into the shadows. I find myself smiling after her for a few moments, and then it occurs to me; where does Nicole walk off to whenever she and I aren't together? Does she have some relative who lived in the…poorer part of town, as she always seems to turn mysterious corners and walk off into shadows? In any case, I hope she's somewhere safe. She is my best friend, and I hope she's aware of who could be watching her. A jolt of fear shoots through me when I remember how she talked about the lord she met earlier in the park. She said that he wasn't quite charming, and was a little devious. My heart starts to hammer in my throat as I glance around the street below the window. The streets are dark, but only with the street lamps and the lights in windows brought some light. I try telling myself that Nicole will be safe if her home is nearby, but somehow I can't get rid of the small, lingering fear that something could happen to her if she was alone at night without a chaperone to accompany her.

I finally settle into bed, anxiously waiting for the next morning, when I will come close to seeing some of my artwork on display next to some more great artists. And spending that day with a good friend like Nicole, made me excitable enough that I didn't fall asleep until well after midnight.


	11. Victoria

Chapter 11 (Nicole)

I feel disappointed when I wake up to see another grey day, but going to the museum with Victor makes my mood increase fiftyfold. Seeing that the clouds above me are very, very white, I see that I have slept a good part of the morning. For all I know, it's just after noon.

The minute I'm up, I dust off my dress and decide to search the cellar corners for something to help me look presentable for the day. I hope that I'm wrong about those crates, and then, to my surprise, find a lonely bottle of perfume in the corner. It's dusty and collecting cobwebs, but I'm able to unscrew the top and pour some onto my wrists. I run my hands through my hair, tying my hair back into a half -ponytail with the elastic band around my wrist.

I sneak out from the cellar, and peek around the corner, to see Victor working with the fishmongers. He turns to speak to the hunchback, and when he nods, Victor goes back to his work.

Grinning excitedly, I walk out from the corner, and make my appearance. Victor has a short conference with the fishmongers and then joins me in walking to the museum. I find shortly that it's just a block away from Victor's house, so we get there just before the morning crowd- if there is one.

The interior is made of high, arched ceilings, with every painting framed by woodwork of swirling clouds. I don't recognize many of the paintings or drawings there, but they are lovely. I can tell right away that Victor can easily place some of his work there, and they would look amazing next to even the best of the art there. The paintings have such power, scope and beauty that, well, it's hard to look away from them. At times, we take some of Victor's art and hang it in the air next to a piece that we think is particularly dull, and have great fun seeing which pieces they look good next to. It surprises me that there's no one around to speak to about putting some of the drawings into the galleries. Poor Victor, with no one wanting to understand his talent other than me is particularly depressing, getting worse as I notice how empty the museum is of any signs of life. In fact, there's now only me, Victor, and the quiet of the vast building around us- quiet enough that when Victor or I chuckle, it echoes throughout the whole place for several seconds before finally fading out.

Then, as we turn the corner into another gallery, I notice another person – a woman in a long wine red-pink gown and brown cloak- standing next to a painting at the other end of the hall. Her head hangs low for some time, only occasionally looking up as her fingers graze the paintings. From her simple gestures and how she hangs her head after each painting, it seems like she's lamenting something. I wonder if maybe it's the same woman I saw in the park yesterday, and I suddenly become excited to meet her, and find out what the matter was.

I feel guilty as I watch her move along the rows of paintings, a bunch of them about families and women and their children. I watch as she stops at a particular painting of a woman sitting outside a tiny garden of flowers, covered with wildlife and several different plants. The child running towards her has her arms outstretched and looking like she's running towards her mother after a long time away. The woman I observe stands near the painting, and stops there, hanging her head low and hugging her hands to herself.

Slowly, I take a deep breath and excuse myself from where Victor and I are. I cross the corridor and prepare to introduce myself to the woman.

"Um…good day," I begin.

The woman gasps, and turns around. She puts her hand on her heart when she sees me, removing her cloak from around her shoulders. "Oh dear," she says. Her voice was a sweet sound, so innocent and childlike that I find it hard to believe that she's a grieving woman. "Good day to you too, miss. I'm sorry for not paying attention to you…"

"It's okay," I say, curtsying politely. "I'm Nicole Hudson. It's good to meet you."

The woman curtsies back, if somewhat slowly and shyly. "I'm called Victoria. Victoria Everglot," she replies. "Please. The pleasure is mine." She speaks with such caution and reserve that it's shocking to me that she even spoke at all. She's being really sweet though, and I like her already.

"So…do you like it here?" I ask her.

"Oh, well, yes I do," she answers. "It's a wonderful place, like a dream within a dream. But, you know, I really should be going home. There's something important that I must be getting to."

"Whoa, hold on a minute," I say, before she could walk away. "I just happened to notice you were looking a little downhearted, so I just thought you needed someone to talk to."

Victoria stops where she is. The nervous, scared look on her face slowly disappears, and she steps back towards the painting. "Well, I suppose I could speak with you, for a while."

"What were you doing over here?" I ask her, inquiring about her interest in the painting of the woman and the child in the flowers.

Victoria glances upward at the painting, and touches it lightly once again. "I was admiring this painting here," she says. "It reminds me of the days when childhood was an open door, simply waiting for you to rush out of it whenever you wished. Full of flowers, and beauty, and love. And the expression of joy on the child, I don't believe I've smiled like that in so long a time."

I observe the painting again, noticing that the child's eyes were reflecting sunflowers, very finely hidden against the light coming from behind the woman. "Wow, yes. Do you see the sunflowers in her eyes?" I ask.

Victoria smiles slightly when she notices the eyes of the child. "An artist is an amazing person, really," she murmurs, "to capture such expression and beauty. I suppose that…if I should ever marry, it would be wonderful to marry to someone with such vision and care in their soul. Especially if…if I could marry for love."

"I agree," I say. "Incredible what such wonders lie in the imagination of an artist like this one." Then, I look at Victoria, surprised at what she said. "What do you mean? Are you getting married to someone you don't love?"

"No, I'm not," Victoria answers, shaking her head. "Well, I worry that it could happen to me. I am of age, and my mother and father tell me that I should honor the idea of marrying one that they choose for me. Unfortunately, they say that every man in this town is too improper for me; that they shall teach me the wrong ideas of being a wife- particularly those they call the _nouveau riche_."

"Gosh, that's awful," I say.

"I suppose that, there's nothing I can do to stop them," she laments, looking at the painting again. "What am I? I'm only a woman who is to attend her duties as my parents want me to."

"Well then, do you think that you can…" I'm about to suggest to her that she take it upon herself to find a husband, like Victor is supposed to. But the way that Victoria talks about her parents, it sounds like her situation could potentially be worse than Victor's.

"That bad?"

"Afraid so," Victoria says. "I must admit that, the only true mother I ever knew was my nanny, Hildegard. She was the only one who ever helped me understand what was good in life…Wait, what am I doing telling you all this, Miss Hudson? This is not the kind of thing I should be mentioning to you…"

"Victoria, this might be a little crazy, but I understand perfectly. How you feel, that is. Mind if I tell you a little about my own parents?"

Victoria nods, and I lead her down the corridor, telling her about all the ridiculous conformities my parents put on me from the start- how they forced me to not be a writer, how they discouraged me from doing what I loved most- just trying to stop me from upstaging them! It feels good to explain it to her, to help her see that she can break free from her own problems, just as much as I had convinced Victor he could. With every word, Victoria seems to give me a look of doubt and sadness. I can't believe it; is her situation that horrible? Are her parents that cruel and controlling that whenever I mention hope, she looks so downcast?

Still, I do see some smiles from her once in a while. We spot some landscape paintings along the way, and Victoria tells me she had seen landscape that beautiful beyond the city, and how beautiful it was in the clearing outside the city in the spring.

"Yes, I can remember it perfectly," she says, "playing on the bridge by the chapel and hiding in the trees, really up until I was six years old. Oh, how I wish I could be a child sometimes, with no plans of marriage or duties to follow."

I can't say that I disagreed with her. My parents kept such a tight hand on me, I didn't learn what other fun there was besides writing in my journals and gym class games at school. Still, I stuck with writing imaginative stories, and created fun all my own, that no one else could understand.

She and I soon lose ourselves in stories from our childhood, until I realize how long I have been gone from Victor. I look behind us at the corridor, and notice that we have turned a corner a while ago. Now I'm almost entirely unsure where I should go.

Nervously clearing my throat, I straighten myself up and curtsy to Victoria. "Pleasure meeting you, Victoria, but now I must go."

She seems displeased that I have to leave, but Victoria grins solemnly and says, "Yes, it has been lovely meeting you, Miss Hudson…um, Nicole. I hope we can talk again some time."

"Me too," I add, beginning to walk away. When I turn my head to look ahead of me, I begin to concentrate on finding my way back to Victor, but I'm also thinking of Victoria, and how alike she and I are. It amazes me, from what she told me of her parents, that they had kept her from all the wonderful things that children would know in her time- playing in the park on Sunday afternoons after morning worship, meeting other girls her age, then playing dolls and banging on the piano with friends when no one was looking. Her mother also always told her that music is an improper thing for a little lady to learn (too passionate); now that is just silly!

Victoria's stories tear through my mind as I turn the corner to find Victor still in the same corridor, comparing his art with several others. His head tilts this way and that, observing how his work looks. Sometimes, it tilts so quickly that it's almost like he's a squirrel turning around or twitching its tail. The analogy makes me laugh, and I laugh hard enough that Victor turns and sees me coming down the corridor.

"I was wondering when you would come back," he notes, gathering his art in his hands. "Actually, I was beginning to think you might have abandoned me to scope out the best artwork before I could."

"You know I wouldn't do that kind of thing without you escorting me. I think you know that a proper young lady never does anything without knowing that her escort is by her side." I prance a few steps away from him, twirling my skirts like a pretty, happy girl and smile towards the ceiling dramatically. Victor chuckles lightly before I turn around to join him again below the paintings.

"I guess we can be glad that there are no windows in here," I say, "otherwise we'd be able to tell time enough to get out of here. This is a lot of fun."

Victor's eyes suddenly widen; if they weren't big enough already, and he glances all around us in the corridor. "Is there a clock anywhere?" he asks.

"Who cares?" I answer, realizing too late what Victor really meant.

"No, my parents," Victor says. "If I'm not back soon, they'll..." He fiddles nervously with his tie, and he looks like he's going to be sick.

"Relax, calm down," I say rapidly. "Then we can't waste any time. If they'll really be that angry, then let's get there as fast as we can. If we get there too late, I'll cover for you."

"Don't think about it," Victor commands, "let's just get back."

Without saying another word, the both of us speed out of the museum, and are out on the street when the last few carriages are out, carrying their grim passengers. Victor and I speed-walk down the street, pushing past people in our path, ignoring their rude comments on how hasty we're being.

Finally, we stop at Victor's front door, and he seems dismayed to see that the fishmongers are inside already. He gulps, and walks up the door, seeming hesitant to knock. And after what happened last night, I can already see what's coming. I tense beside him and reach for his hand, hoping that they aren't inside doing what I hope they aren't doing; tattle-tailing on Victor's disappearance.

When Victor knocks, at last, there's no immediate thundering of footsteps, but a single step towards the door.

"Victor, get in here immediately!" a raspy woman's voice calls. "We're going to have a big talk with you!" Suddenly, a large woman wearing a purple day dress charges through the door and grabs Victor by his hand, dragging me inside with them. They both rush off to the same hallway I had gone down when Victor cared for my cut, but the woman is rushing so fast that I don't have time to catch my breath, before knocking into the stairs close to my foot. I bang my toes on the stairs, and fall to the floor, letting go of Victor's hand. My face is sprawled on the wooden stairs, and my toe is throbbing from the quick impact. I could cried with the pain, but my face hitting the stairs knocks the wind out of me for a minute.

Slowly, I sit up and rest on the stairs to gather myself from the fall. I slowly reach for my toe to help ease the throbbing, but my face still hurts from hitting the stairs. For several seconds, I just sit there, willing away the pain while I massage my foot and breathe slow, deep breaths.

Then, I could hear voices coming from the kitchen. They are angry and disappointed, but they are all coming from Victor's parents. I don't hear him speak for a while, just listening to them reprimand him for walking away.


	12. A Promise Made

Chapter 12 (Victor)

For many moments, all I can do is sit, and listen. Mother is carrying on again, about how I had walked away. I glance at Mayhew, who starts to have a coughing fit, for which Mother has to silence him. It's no use, as always.

"Victor, I just do not know what we shall do with you!" she says, fanning herself as though this conversation is taking away her strength. "We ask you, time and time again, to stay in your place as the successor to our family business, and our fortunes, and yet you continue to walk away from it! What are you doing?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask her. "Mayhew has been telling you where I've been. Hasn't he? What has he told you?"

"What have you told us, Mayhew?" Mother questions, throwing her glare his way. Mayhew heaves his chest, and let out a long cough, holding his chest against his palm.

"_That_ is what he has told us," Mother says, pointing her fan at Mayhew, who stands still next to the fishmonger, with his hands behind his back.

I'm about to take the moment to explain myself, how I was out in the town looking for a bride, which, I think is becoming my first priority. I prepare to tell them all about Nicole, and that she and I both agreed that becoming a fish merchant is not for me; that we could prove to my parents this future they had planned for me, is wrong! But part of the way through planning what I would say, Mother cuts me off harshly.

"I suppose it can be said you do not understand the situation at hand, Victor," Mother says. "What do we keep telling you? If we're to continue our lines of success, then you should be next in continuing that line. And apparently, you just do not understand."

I am tired of hearing her tell this to me over and over again. I come very close to telling her that I do understand, but that she doesn't understand me. Did she- both of them- believe that this is what I want when clearly, they can see how content I am when I'm creating art? They care more about their fortunes than they do about me.

Father stands behind Mother as she starts to pace around the room again, fanning herself frantically. "You know how many times I asked you to not walk away from your future, did I, Victor," she says, "that you are the one that will go on, and we will not. You can't count on us to live your life for you..."

"And that's just it," I say, finally. "What if…what if being a fish merchant the rest of my life wasn't what I wanted? Y-You can understand that, couldn't you?"

Father steps forth beside Mother. "Victor, this is not about what you want. What's important, is that we continue our success, and never lose it."

"And we would certainly hate to lose it because of you," Mother says.

I grew more frustrated every time that Mother opened her mouth to speak to me. I'm beginning to realize that nothing I could say would change their minds. As long as they are still my parents and leading this business, then I'm trapped in this for good. My opinion is second to theirs, and will never be considered.

Still, Nicole's persuasion for me to speak against them is starting to tell me not to come up short against what my parents are making me do. Could it still be possible for me to convince them? I breathe in gradual breaths to keep myself from speaking so suddenly.

"Therefore, Victor, we are forbidding you to leave unless you are asking permission to court a lady. And before this ever happens, tell us who she is. And if we know who she is, then we shall grant our permission to you."

My heart starts to pound, terribly. So, they are forbidding everything I could do that did not include chopping fish- even my friendship with Nicole. And unless she and I can either agree not to see each other again, or to come together enough for marriage, than I'm doomed.

Immediately, I dismiss the idea of not seeing Nicole again from my mind. I feel now that I could not survive existence without her. She's my only friend, who appreciates what I can do, rather than my new reputation as a fish merchant's son. She can make me laugh, and can look at my stammering and clumsiness and smile at it, instead of frowning in disapproval. Any other woman would think me childish and silly, but Nicole does not. She convinced me that being an artist is nothing to be ashamed of, that it could actually be a beautiful gift. She is helping to show me the way to a brighter future. And with this new restriction, I wonder how long it might be before she would appear at the cart again.

"Is that understood?" Mother asks, breaking my thoughts.

"Yes, Mother, it is," I reply, nodding my head obediently.

Mother smiled, fanning her face one final time before folding it back in. "But please, Victor, obey us this one last order, and great things shall come in your future. Just you see."

I nod again, and stand from the table. I have had enough of Mother speaking of the future I do not want, and am anxious to go back to my bedroom to be alone; to just sit still, and not think of anything for the time being. It's a relief to leave my parents, and Mayhew, in the kitchen. I don't like that Mayhew's coughing fits have gotten me- and him- in trouble for the second time, and that my parents do not yet realize that Nicole exists. And if they don't know about her, then our friendship is done for; and truly, it seems that it is. The thought enough nearly makes me crack in half with the misery of losing my best friend.

I climb the stairs, and solemnly open the door to my bedroom, creaking open with a sound as solemn as I feel. When I shut it, I gasp to see Nicole, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed across the footboard. She turns to look at me, and suddenly, her grin is gone when she notices me.

"Did they tell you off? Again?" she asks, moving to sit up on her knees.

"Afraid they did," I answer, crossing the room to my desk. When I sit down, I lay my head in my cupped hand, sighing deeply; the lament of being forced to part with my best friend is beginning to show itself. "And, unfortunately, my parents still don't know about you, or me. Nothing I will do will change their minds, and if I don't agree to follow the business and court a lady, well…" I frown, and look out the window, seeing the sky as black as ink.

"Well, what are you going to do?" Nicole asks. "You're not going to just sit here and sulk and do nothing about it, are you?"

"I feel I might have no choice," I answer. "If I do anything more to d-disobey them, then they might as well disown me. I've tired of them always watching what I do."

Nicole stands up from the bed, stepping beside me by the window. "More like you grew tired of it before it even started," she adds. "Victor, don't you see? It won't matter what your reputation will be if you don't take after your parents. You'll be doing what you love most. I think your happiness matters more than the silly rules of society, because they're just going to crush your dreams and keep you from what you love. I've had enough of that kind of conformity, and so, you know what I say?"

"What do you say?" I wonder out loud.

Nicole takes my hands and clasps her own in mine so tightly that it startles me, but her touch is comforting; it makes me forget that I'm forbidden from seeing her.

"Victor, promise me," she whispers. "Promise me that if we don't succeed, that you will not forget your dreams. Even if you're standing in the darkest corner, the magic of what you have inside your imagination will not ever die! Forget everything that your parents ever told you about no one being able to accept your work- because I have."

"I know," I whisper back. "I won't." I step closer to her, so that our hands are pressed between our faces. "And you must promise that if this ends our friendship, then…you…won't forget me. Because, you are my best friend in the entire world, and...I...I truthfully don't think I can go on without you there with me."

"Nor I you," she whispers. Then, she turns to face the window, her sight going from the sky to the buildings all around us. "You know, I got an idea. Call me crazy insane, but I think you and I should go out, on the town. Wouldn't it be fun to go out and maybe crash a party, dance the night away? Laugh until we have to be pushed out the door by a grumpy security guard?"

I feel my stomach begin to churn when she mentions attending a party without an invitation. And with that devious grin, I think for a moment that the Nicole I knew was gone, replaced in the form of a rebel girl looking for trouble.

"You know what, if it means getting to spend more time together, then I think it's all for a good cause," Nicole states surely. "And even if we do get in trouble, we'll be in trouble together."

"But, m-my parents," I stammer, "wouldn't they hear us?"

She shakes her head. "Not if we are really quiet. Besides, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

I'm still unsure about what Nicole is trying to lead me into; some dangerous adventure in which we both could get in trouble. And if my parents should find out about an ordeal like this, well, with my mother, there's no telling what she would do. Like I said; if I disobeyed her, she might as well disown me.

Nicole turns back to me, and clenches my hand tighter in hers. "Come on, now, Victor. Where's your sense of adventure? Wouldn't you like to go out and let loose for a few hours, let out your pent up desires by dancing around? We could tango inside someone else's carriage for all I care, so long as we can get out there without your parents getting on your back. You need it!"

I glance worriedly out the window. From far away, the faint sounds of parties and merrymaking are beginning to ring against the walls. My mind however, is still picturing my parents, how they would react if they found me out in the night at a strange party with a strange woman. But I don't think that Nicole would ever lead me into too much trouble; she is a well brought-up woman who knows trouble when she sees it. If she has the sense to keep away from an overbearing lord, then surely she has the sense to not get us into trouble. And besides that, my time is almost up, and with my parents' new rule, there's no possible way that Nicole and I would be allowed to be together in broad daylight anymore. I know now that I could take no other choice; I will go, and I will have a wonderful time alongside Nicole. She and I will dance and have fun, because when I'm with her, it doesn't matter that the whole world wants us to part and go our separate ways. What does matter is that at least I can see her for a whole night, and I can rest easy knowing that she cares about me.

I take a deep breath, and nod my head. "All right, Nicole. Let us go out into the night and dance around like fools until the sun comes up."

"Who cares if we get caught and thrown out, because nothing will separate us in the end!" Nicole declares, throwing her fist high into the air.

The two of us take hands again, and hold tight, standing tall as though we're soldiers in line at battle, feeling the excited strength coming upon us like tidal waves on the ocean shore.

"Hold on a moment," I say when we let go. "If we are going to be taking a nightly outing, shouldn't we…?"

"Get dressed up?" Nicole finishes for me. "Why yes, you're right. But, wait. I've only got this one dress. Hmm. What to do about that?" She begins to pace near the bed, her hand on her chin in thought.

I'm not hesitant to do anything I can to see that we could enjoy the night together, so I state, "My mother has some spare evening gowns in her wardrobe. Perhaps I could get one from there."

"Would you?" Nicole asks. "Oh, thanks, but do you want me to come with you?"

"I suppose, if _you _would like to exercise _your _sense of adventure," I reply. "Getting a dress out of there should be adventure enough for the both of us."

"Very well, then." Nicole stands tall, and follows me out of the room, walking on tip-toe onto the landing. There is a light from downstairs, flickering gently, accompanied by a low crackling. I relax, knowing that my parents are occupied with their evening tea by the fire. As long as we don't make any noise, Nicole and I can easily get one of Mother's gowns- back from when she was a young, thin woman- and get back into my room before they realize what I am up to.

Carefully, trying not to stumble in the darkness, I find Mother's bedside lantern, and turn the handle to stir the light. Nicole, meanwhile, has immediately found my mother's large wardrobe in the corner, which is as tall as the high ceiling. She turns the doorknob, and the door creaks open to reveal a row of hanging gowns.

"I always thought it was normal for a woman to have only a few dresses," she says, gesturing towards the gowns inside.

"It is, I suppose," I answer. "It's a good thing she prefers to keep every dress she ever wore; says it makes her seem glamorous to the other ladies."

Nicole chuckles and begins to shuffle towards the back of the wardrobe. Finally, she exclaims, and pulls out a long, lovely gown from the very back. She sweeps her hand down the skirt, and a thick puff of dust flies off, making the both of us cough.

"This is the one," she says sweeping it across her body. Nicole glances around before she notices Mother's folding screen in the other corner. Stepping behind it, I watch her old dress come flying over the edge, hanging like a wet cloth.

"I'm coming out now." After she speaks, I hear a deep breath, and then Nicole steps out. What I see would have sent me reeling into the bed with awe if the footboard wasn't behind me.

Nicole stands before the screen like a nervous young lady about to make her debut. After seeing her in the plain blue dress for such a long time, she seems to resemble a glittering angel now. The skirt reaches the floor, a glittering combination of a sea green under-dress with a lacy dress over it. It has a high waist, marked with a bright blossom-pink ribbon. The sleeves reach her elbows, and the shoulders of the dress fall off her shoulders, revealing the entirety of her chest and the silver key around her neck, covered by her dark hair that falls around her chest. I like it when she turns her head to glance in the mirror, and she twirls around, causing the skirt to fan out like an upside-down flower. She stops, and smiles at herself. Seeing her in that dress, and listening to the musical notes of her laugh, I begin to feel a different kind of churning inside me. I want to take her hand and watch her twirl beneath me, just so I could see such beauty for a longer bit of time. In the mysterious glow of the lantern, she has the look of an ancient goddess, and in that moment, I nearly forget that she and I are in the same room, let alone in the same world.

"It's wonderful," she says, amazement in her eyes. "I didn't know your mother could have such a wardrobe." She turns around again, and lifts some of the skirt in her hands. "I wonder how others ladies reacted to a dress this beautiful."

I shrug, and suggest that we go back to the bedroom. I notice that downstairs, the light of the fire is still glowing faintly. I'm disappointed to see that my parents aren't close to coming upstairs for bed, but at least, that meant me and Nicole could get some rest before we go out. I swallow hard, and hope that they will not try to see me off to bed; the last thing I need is them being there while Nicole would have to hide. She can't fit inside one of the dresser chest drawers, can she?

Quietly, I slip into my night clothes, and creep into bed, Nicole lying next to me. I feel a little uneasy letting her into the bed, but there is no other hiding place comfortable enough for her to sleep. For many moments, I consider the scandal something like this might bring, praying that my parents won't notice Nicole if they come inside. I'm beginning to want this outing to happen more every minute I worry that my parents will catch me and Nicole in the act.


	13. Peaceful Sleep

Chapter 13 (Nicole)

I never really get any sleep, lying here in Victor's bed. For one, it's uncomfortable trying to sleep in the dress and I wish that I'd taken it off before Victor told me to lie down. And my excitement is getting to me, glad that I've convinced Victor to take this opportunity with me. But still, the poor guy seemed a little jumpy. What is wrong? Is he more nervous than he wants to say? Well, maybe I do feel a little guilty for trying to make him do something he isn't comfortable doing. But then again, life is all about taking risks. And if he doesn't take one before he is trapped in their web, then nothing will be worth anything anymore.

Of course, my eyes slowly begin to droop, and next to me, I can hear Victor's steady breathing. I turn my head to look at him, and smil when I notice him lying on his back, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath. In sleep, he's like a peaceful angel, never stirring, never grumbling or speaking- just silent slumber. Then, I also notice that a little tendril of his hair has fallen in his face, so I sit up, and reach out. Gingerly, I tuck the tendril of hair away from his face, my fingers grazing his soft skin. Somehow, wherever my fingers touch him, I can feel my own skin sparking and tingling with an electric energy that zips through my entire body like fire. I can feel the energy down in my toes, and when my body begins to shake with the power of the energy, I take my hand away. I stare at my hand, and then where I touched Victor, confused. What a strange feeling that touch brought on, like I had placed my hand near a fire inside of a glacier- warm, but tingling in the warmth meeting with stinging cold. I think my sudden touch should've awakened him, but he still breaths steadily as a child does in deep sleep.

With every second, my eyes begin to feel heavier and heavier, until I lay down again, pulling the covers around my dress. They close as soon as my head touches the pillow, and drowsiness overcomes me at last. My heart jumps when I move and feel Victor's hand touch mine, but relax quickly when my fingers accidentally weave partially through his. And then, for a fleeting minute, I think, through the dizzy feeling of drowsiness, that his fingers might be closing around mine…


	14. The Time of Many Lifetimes

Chapter 14 (Victor)

Slowly, I can feel the sleep leaving me, and I begin to sit up. But there is something, something grasping me. And I'm grasping it back.

I glance down at my hand, which is holding Nicole's as she sleeps. She's lying on her back, with her head turned so that her cheek is resting on the pillow, her other hand relaxed beside her face. Her dark hair is all around her like one of Mother's fans, only shinier and more beautiful, shining in the moonlight from the window. But I soon find myself losing my breath when hers becomes more prominent, and then slow once again. Her face lights up by the moon in the darkness, she is a sleeping beauty, captured in a spell of sleep that she could be in forever if no one awoke her. And I don't, wanting to see her in such a state of peace and calm, just wishing to watch her face and the silk of her dress shine in the light of the moon, and if I didn't know who she was, I could mistake her for a fallen angel.

But now, she begins to stir, her fingers twitching and her head moving to the other side of the pillow. With a low murmur, she takes a deep breath, and her eyes flutter and open. She yawns, and slowly tries to rise from the bed, but suddenly, she gasps and jumps up. I jump too, nearly falling down onto the floor! Nicole must have seen me over her, and thought I was some kind of horrible villain, coming for her. Once I regain my position, I hang my head. "Forgive me, Nicole," I say quickly. "I-I d-did not mean t-to startle you."

Nicole sits up in the bed, and ruba her eyes. "No, no, it's- it's okay," she says. "Actually, it…" She starts to giggle. "It was actually kind of funny, the way we both nearly fell off the bed…" She covers her mouth with her hand, and her shoulders begin to shake with laughter. Seeing her laugh so selflessly at my clumsy mistake, I begin to chuckle myself, although I'm still embarrassed for scaring her like that.

Nicole sighs deeply, pushing the covers off of her dress, and sliding from the bed, smooths out her skirts. "Well, shall we?" she asks, gesturing out the window. "There's a big, grand world out there waiting for us. Just we two!"

"And so, we will," I answer, standing up to get some proper clothes on. While Nicole glances out the window, I disappear behind the wall where my dresser chest was, and uncover another suit- the solemn brown, like the rest- and quickly button it up to my neck, tying a green-black tie around it. Turning to a small mirror on top of the chest, I run a hand over my hair, and straighten my coat. Taking a deep breath, I turn and Nicole is back from the window, her hands behind her back and standing up straight, like a lady. Around her shoulders, she has wrapped an old shawl, buttoned just below her chin.

I stride up to her, and hook my arm. "Shall we?" I repeat.

Nicole laughs, and curtsies. "Yes." She loops her arm through mine, and as quietly as we can, walk down the stairs, the both of us taking careful care to see that our footsteps do not sound throughout the house.

Finally, we make it to the large front doors, and the both of us close one hand around the handle, and pull it open. It creaks slightly, and I cringe, hoping that it's not be too loud. We are able to open it just enough that we can slip through the opening, walking on our toes. Nicole holds her breath as she walks outside, with me following close behind her. And then, inch by inch, I hold the handle tightly in my hands and close it slowly to not make much noise when it clicks shut. It clicks, louder than I hoped, so the moment that I take my hands away from the handle, I dashe down the stairs, and don't stop to breathe until I'm at the bottom next to Nicole.

"I guess your parents are pretty light sleepers, huh?" Nicole asks, looking up at my dark bedroom window.

I shake my head, wishing it could be so that they could sleep like rocks. "Light enough that they might have awakened if we had walked down the steps as we pleased," I reply. "But, we are outside now."

Nicole nods, and pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Now that we have gotten out of the house, we can go anywhere we want. Think there are any late night parties around here?"

I shrug, glancing all around. Many of the lights on the street are dark, and tell us of no life or merrymaking anywhere.

"I suppose we might just have to search for one," I say.

"Isn't that what we came out here for?" Nicole asks. "Okay then, let's go find one."

Taking the first step, I lead Nicole down the street, holding her hand as a proper escort should. I have to admit that, while we were trying to leave the house, I had been fearful enough that had I not been linked through Nicole's arm, I would have backed away from this and gone back to my bedroom. But now that we are outside, holding Nicole as she had held me in her sleep, my fear is beginning to disappear. Nicole is placing some of her own undying confidence into me it seems, and it comes flying into me as though it is a rushing river, and I'm stepping into the currents. I feel…safe, and happy. I never felt that way when I was with a woman before. At least, not with a woman like Nicole.

For several moments, we are both silent, looking around for any signs of life around us. As time passeds Nicole squeezes my hand tighter. I can't tell at first whether it's her excitement growing, or her confidence leaving her. I grow nervous at thinking she is beginning to believe that this adventure is for nothing.

She surprises me with a sudden movement as she points off towards a lit house on the corner of the street. And indeed, I can hear the sounds of laughter and music, although they are very faint, almost silent. As we come closer, the excitement of our discovery begins to heighten, and when Nicole's pace quickens I'm forced to begin running with her. It surprises me how fast she can go, but even more surprising, is that in a matter of seconds we are at the door, looking up at its grandeur in such wonder. We must have come to the wealthy side of the town, because their doors stretch so high, even someone as tall me could get neck strain looking up at the top.

"You certain this is the right place to be?" I ask.

"Yes," Nicole says. "This is it."

We hesitate for a moment before I decide to ring the doorbell. When I do, a stuffy old man and a woman, larger than my mother, walk up. The man gives me an odd look, but the woman smiles gleefully, despite that her eyes are closed.

"John, is that you?" she asks, putting her hands out to touch me. She feels my coat, and then began to inch her way up to my face.

"Um, yes, that's me," I answer quickly, afraid of where she might touch next.

"But, darling, this is…" The man attempts to correct her.

"No, no, John is here," the woman snaps. "Hurry, let him in. And Helena over there too." She points to Nicole, who looks just as confused as I am.

The man sighs and steps aside so we can go through, and I cautiously step through the doorway, and into the foyer of the house. It's bigger and grander than my home, and the arched doorways on either side of the grand staircase are lit by the brightness of many lights. I feel very small in all this grandeur, but I am met with a slight excitement once again as Nicole steps next to me.

We follow the lights into a huge ballroom, in which couples are dancing to grand music, played by a tiny orchestra in the far corner. They are swaying to their music, as bows slide across strings and fingers open and close over the wind instruments. I have never heard such beautiful music, so joyful and fun. I'm nearly enticed to sit down and listen to it inspire such abstract pictures of art in my mind, or perhaps, to actually attempt to dance to its beautiful sounds. I'm slightly discouraged however, when I sa\e how so many of the couples were dancing so perfectly, never missing a step. And with my clumsiness, I fear that if I even step out to the floor, I will topple over every dancer in the room, and then where would Nicole and I be?

Nicole swallows when she notices this scene. This makes me even more afraid of stepping into the crowd of dancers; if Nicole isn't confident, than neither am I.

"Think we should at least try it?" she asks. "I was really hoping for some crazy dancing at a small party, but this might have to do." She's taking deep breaths the more that she observes the dancers.

I'm not so sure myself, but I know I'm not going to pass the opportunity to have a good night with Nicole, even if it means I might humiliate myself in front of some high-class aristocrats. Does it? Am I willing to humiliate myself simply for Nicole's sake?

Clearing my throat, I breathe deeply and step just a little onto the dancing floor. I bow, and hold out a hand for Nicole to take, just as a new dance is beginning. She nervously steps out too, and tries to assume her position, by placing her left hand on my shoulder, and her other in my hand. I am glad to see that I'm not alone in feeling nervous about dancing, so I take her hand, and place my other on her waist, which shakes as I touch it, but Nicole seems to have relaxed.

When the music begins, we are both still, waiting for one to take the first step, among the other dancers who are whirling and stepping all over to the elaborate, sweeping music. Unsure, I sweep Nicole into the crowd, and she yelps in surprise, but holds on. I glance desperately around at the other dancers, trying hopelessly to mimic their steps. But I'm still clumsily leading Nicole like an incompetent fool. I worry for a moment that Nicole will think that I am an idiot, for being a gentleman that does not nor can dance. I can tell that she is waiting for the right moment to take the lead, and fix the dance. But soon enough, she looks away from her feet, and up at me, which surprises me- that she does not seem to worry about how our dancing appears compared to the others.

"Forgive me," I say. "I'm such an incompetent fool."

"Better than I am," Nicole answers, giggling. "Never waltzed a day in my life, much less danced at all."

"Suppose that it's foolish to be so artistically talented, and yet not know how to dance?" I ask.

"A person does not have to know how to dance to be artistically involved," she says. "Not every artist is good at all the fine arts. You think Picasso could dance flamenco and come out with a million girls asking for him to lead them?"

"Am I…supposed to know?" I wonder out loud.

"As far as I know, he could not," she adds. "The point is that not every artist or writer can do everything in the arts. And I might sound frank, but I'm glad. It's fun to dance and look like a fool sometimes."

"But should we be doing something like that in here?" I say, afraid.

"They're all twirling and whirling so fast they can barely see where they are anymore," Nicole says. "I say, why not? They're probably too dizzy to care. And so should we."

She gives me a good tug, and like the other dancers, we are spinning and flying throughout the room. And like Nicole said, I soon can't tell one dancer from the other, and hearing Nicole's joyful laughter above the music, it's even more musical than the waltz. Something light and funny is starting to build beneath me, and then, while I spin Nicole in a circle, I let out a long, hard laugh that meets with hers. Hearing such happiness in her voice, it becomes hard not to keep my straight posture, and I'm soon whirling and stepping around so that someone might mistake me for a tall child, rather than a young man. I'm certain that if my parents saw me being so childish, then they would have locked me away to read book after book on being a fish merchant. And that's what makes this dancing, silly and extraordinary as it is, feel so marvelous.

Indeed, when Nicole twirls beneath my hand, and watching her dark hair fly out and her dress become a whirling circle of color and light in the chandeliers, I'm starting to believe that I'm in a whole other place, for I have truly never seen such joy and laughter on so many faces, and heard such happy music. Dances that I have seen are very dull, as is everything and everyone else in the town, but this one makes me question whether I have stepped into some whole other world. The room is bright, faces are spirited, and the dance is fast and thrilling. It makes me laugh to believe that without Nicole here, I would be in bed at home, waiting for the next day to arrive, in which I would fill the day with the dull tasks that fishmongers and fish merchants perform. Because now, I'm having the most wonderful, amazing night of my life, thanks to Nicole, and I actually wonder how much I can do to repay her for bringing me to such a glorious place.

At first, I can think of nothing.

But then, as Nicole looks up at me amidst the wild dancing, and I gaze at her, I can feel something- something much different- springing into my mind. Is it some kind of trickery, or do her eyes and her face seem so much brighter, and much lovelier? The thrill of the music begins to peak, and a slower waltz starts to sound. The room starts to change into the same sky blue as her eyes, and I can swear that the rest of the dancers disappear, under a dark cloud the same color as her hair. I close my eyes and then opene them, to be certain that this is not just in my imagination. Still, when her eyes fall into mine, I can't help but feel as though she is lifting me off the ground and into a higher place where it's only me and gazing at her, in all her beauty. I forget that after tonight, sooner or later, when I will be in an arranged marriage, that I might never see her again, and never hold her close to me; that I might never wipe away her tears, or be her friend when she needs someone. But then again, Nicole is no ordinary friend of mine. She is more, so much more. I can tell suddenly, when I remember how her smile caused me to become weak in the knees, and how she believes in me. She is my inspiration, my muse, with a laugh that is a song I know I will always hear, over and over again.

Nicole's expression changes from content and excited, to confused. "Victor, are you all right?"

Her voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I can see everyone around us, without the blue mist or the dark cloud that had hidden them. "Oh, yes, Nicole, I'm all right."

"Feeling dizzy?" she asks.

"Yes," I answer, surprised to find that my voice is a breathy sigh.

"Come on, let's sit down." She stops us in our dancing, and leads us towards a bench against the wall. When we're there, she collapses onto the seat, and I breathe a deep sigh of tire.

"Wow, what a dance. Tiring, but fun." Nicole sighs and tucks her hair behind her ears, and sweeps some wrinkles from her dress.

"It's a shame this must be the only place that can throw amazing parties," I add.

"I know," she agrees. "Well, I'm just exhausted from this dancing. You think we should head back?"

"No," I murmur. At this moment, an idea is coming to me. Nicole had led us to this marvelous dance, and so now, I decide that there is something that I can do to make this night even more wonderful. There is a place I can take her to, to repay her for such a glorious night here, and to give her a surprise. A surprise that I know neither of us would forget.


	15. Resolutions By the Sea

Chapter 15 (Nicole)

I can only sit there, breathing heavily from the dancing, while I wait for Victor to finish his sentence. He sits, his eyes far away, as if thinking of something. He seems to be in deep thought, so I don't dare say anything, so as not to interrupt him. Still, I keep my eyes glued to his face, so I can make out an answer. Nothing.

He sits up straighter soon, and grins. "Nicole, would you like to go down to the seaside? There's something I want to show you there."

The seaside? My mind fills with images of moonlit water, and a long stretch of sandy land all to ourselves. And the seaside he's talking about must be the Atlantic Ocean. That would be pretty wonderful; just the kind of atmosphere we need to end the night.

I nod my head, and quickly, I run to gather my shawl from the door, and when Victor follows me there, we open the doors, and step out. The cold startles the both of us, but we are walking down the street quickly enough that we are warmed quickly. And Victor's hand against mine fills me with that energy that sends the electricity through my arm and body again, warming me with that mysterious fire that I experienced while he was sleeping beneath my hand.

The moon is high in the sky, lighting the streets like the sun could, quiet only with the sounds of crashing waves nearby. And when we reach the shore, Victor lets go of me, and steps in front of me to lead us further down the shore. When he stops, he came to a tiny grove of plants and flowers just a few yards from the water, encircling a patch of sea grass, dying brown in the winter air. As they wave, they revealed a tiny pile of dead leaves, which scatter when a breeze pulls them away. They tinkle with the frost, and make music as they crinkle and fly away into the face of the moon. Roots poke up here and there, where flowers must have been.

"I used to come here when I was a boy," Victor says. "I discovered it when my dog, Scraps, followed a butterfly over here, when it was full of flowers and life. He loved running through the flowers so much that I came here with him every time that I could. I stopped, when he died, and my parents forced me to start becoming a man, and facing the ordeals of society." He sighs, and touches some of the grass, letting them fall from his fingers in the wind.

"I bet you loved your dog very much," I whisper. It almost breaks me to see Victor so sad, and mournful. God. Strict parents, no real friends, a dead dog. What's next? The death of a loved one? Oh, dear God, no.

"Yes, he was, never kept me off my feet," he says, chuckling. "But…we're not here to mourn him. Nicole…" Victor stands up, and crosses over to me. When he stands so close to me, and looks deeply into my eyes, I lose my breath. My heart goes into overdrive, startling me so that I might have fallen down to the ground, had Victor not been holding my hands; not with firmness, but gentle care. This feeling is strange to me, feeling my heart beat so fast, and feeling him against me. But…I like it. No, I don't just like it. I _love _it. Almost as much as…

"Nicole, I-I confess," he says. "Walking into that mansion, I felt very frightened. But then, when I began to dance, with you, I felt that, that I have found what I was looking for this whole time."

"What?" I ask, edging him into what he might say. I'm so scared, and so anticipating it, that I can't stand still.

Victor seems to stop breathing for a moment. And then, with a shaking hand, he lifts my hand up to his face, and he does something that he has never done before, and I doubt he has ever done before.

He kisses my hand, with a tenderness that I can feel in my heart, and the spark it leaves is earth-shattering to me. The gentle pop of his lips on my skin shakes me to my core, and I might start tearing up with the realization that has come over me.

I can't believe that I didn't realize it at this moment. My breath is lost to me even more even as I think of it.

I'm in love. With Victor. In a burning desire that overtakes me by such surprise that tears actually do come to my eyes. They fall down my cheeks slowly, and my heart aches with the overwhelming love I can suddenly feel, a love that I have never had for anyone else in my entire life.

"Nicole, w-what's the matter?" he asks, gathering me in his arms. "I didn't mean to do that…"

"No, it's not that," I say through my tears. "It's just…I…I've never felt so happy, so _free_, in my whole life. I'm just so…" I can't speak further, so great is my joy. In this moment, I remember wishing back home for that someone who could love me, who would appreciate me for my talent, and not hate me for it. But then, through some magical miracle in this dream, I am here with him. Victor is that someone, who loves me for what's inside me. And it comes to me, that I'm his someone, who cares about his future as an artist, and what he can do with it. And now, I more than care. I want it for him. _I _want _him_.

I feel his arms close around me, both of us turning to face the shore, blinding with the moon shining on the open water. The lapping of the water on the sand is gentle and soothing, but when I feel him lean his head down next to my cheek, I hold my breath, truly fearing I will lose myself with the feelings circulating through my heart.

"Nicole," I hear him whisper, so low and gentle that I can only close my eyes and take in the love I can hear so clearly in it. "I want to be with you. Always."

I sniff away the last of my happy tears, and hold his hand in mine so that I can bring it up to my lips. I'm about to plant my own little kisses on it, but something stops me. I must tell him.

"I feel the same," I whisper, so low that I think for a moment I said nothing. But he must have heard me, because he reaches out a hand under my chin, and touches my cheek with it. His thumb barely grazes my ear, while his other fingers strokes the skin and brown hair behind it.

The both of us suddenly start, because a cold winter wind seems to come from out of nowhere and press the two of us close together, although he's holding me close enough that I can already feel his heart pounding on my shoulder blade behind me. It's so cold that my shawl isn't enough to keep me warm, so I press myself into Victor even more, finding warmth in his arms. And he seems to be doing the same, hugging me close to him like I'm an old teddy bear. I shiver as the breeze plays with the skirt of my dress, whipping it here and there so that it fans out into a flag of lace and silk, fluttering just above the waves that crash near our feet.

I hold tight to Victor, and then, as the breeze starts to touch my hair to my cheek, I begin to realize something. I wonder if this was no accident, Victor and I meeting. I was looking for someone, he was looking for someone. I'm a dreamer, he's a dreamer. And we're hoping to find some help out of our conformities. And well, here we are, on the shore of the Atlantic, holding each other, our troubles blown away with the breeze. The wind is pushing the two of us together, just after we had admitted to the other that we loved them. Is it that…that…fate meant for us to be together? That we were destined to meet, fall in love, and…?

Immediately, my thoughts are crushed by an overwhelming rush in my heartbeat, as he leans his head to gaze at me, and for several moments, I stare back, letting every feature of his beautiful face sink into my mind's permanent memory; as long as I live, I don't want to forget this precious moment. And then, as my mind is watching his face move before me, my lips are up against his, sweetly touching. For a moment, I let them stay there, touching his with nothing but feeling. And then, one of my hands breaks away from his around my waist, and pulls his face closer to mine. He then returns this tender gesture by tensing his grip on my waist and pulling me closer, enough that my shoulder blades feel every beat of his heart. It's skipping so often that I wonder if he can feel my pulse where his hands lay on my waist; my own heart is pounding so hard I worry that maybe I will actually crack open my chest with the powerful love surging through me like an electric shock. I can't wonder for long though, because every time I remember that his lips are pressing against mine, that rush of joy comes, blocking thought altogether. My love is strong enough that I wish he and I really live in the same century, because then I won't have to worry about going back and forth to see him. I begin to wish it more than anything as another resolution comes to mind.

I'm not dreaming. My love, his love, is all real!


	16. A Key Between Us

Chapter 16 (Victor)

With Nicole in my arms, her kiss so delicate and sweet, with her everywhere, I am content. I know even more, with every moment she's with me, that I love her. When she's this close to me, feeling her heart skipping delicately, I can feel that connection she and I have, one deeper than I have ever had with anyone else.

The greatest happiness I ever felt is in the moment that she says those four words. "I feel the same," she says, and in the gentle way she whispers them, without a trace of uncertainty, I know instantly that she loves me too. And finally, it brings me to the moment when I kiss her, feeling her so closely that she is like a marvelous discovery becoming one with me at the center of my soul. It feels wonderful knowing that this girl- this smart, beautiful, amazing girl- feels the same about me. And the overwhelming pleasure that her touch gives me is thrilling. It's a feeling I want to last forever, for time to stop, to have only her and I in this moment on the shore, to hold her forever.

And then, when I lead Nicole back into my house, the halls are still quiet. I creep with her into my bedroom, and even when we're sitting still on the bed, we're still breathing hard from being on the cold shore. And even when I hold her close to me, leaning against the headboard, we are still shivering.

Soon, Nicole tears herself away and then stands in front of me, holding my hands in hers. She's shuddering in her breathing, her shoulders rising and falling quickly.

"Take off my dress," she says. "Take off my dress, Victor."

I take in a sharp breath when I realize what her words really mean. I can barely picture it; I would unlace her, and I would see her- without a dress, much less a corset or undergarments. The thought frightens me, and yet, my fingers are already tangled in the buttons on the back of her dress. I'm sitting so still beside her, never stopping to breathe in this new kind of excitement. I'm frightened of seeing her without her clothes, and yet I enjoy seeing her face to be one of such joy and anxiousness, because it's an expression that closely matches my own.

"You afraid?" Nicole whispers.

I nod, finally undoing the last button. The dress falls past her shoulders, and down from her arms. She slowly steps out of the dress, and it falls to the floor.

"So am I," she whispers back. With trembling fingers, she reaches for the buttons on my coat, and begins to undo them one by one. When she is through, she reaches for my vest, and then to the starched white shirt beneath it. And all through her work, I stay absolutely still, waiting for her so that we can go on this new adventure that would end the night marvelously, despite that I'm trembling so that I could shake the whole world.

Nicole's trembling suddenly gives way, and I reach to catch her before she falls. I manage to, and she doesn't react beyond a stare of desire.

"Are you all right?" I ask her, stroking her satin cheek.

She seems to be under a spell of anxiousness, as she only answers with a small nod. I worry for several seconds that maybe I'm frightening her with this intimacy, but within me, I know that what we are doing was right, that we are showing the other just what they mean. Because of how much Nicole means, how much a part of me she has become, I fear I can't express that enough to her. I'm still frightened as I begin to lose my mind inside her glorious eyes, blue as the ocean and just as deeply beautiful.

Nicole smiles, and then proceeds to climb over me, clutching my clammy hand in her own. She shakes as she does so, losing the confidence that I once believed would never die. I start to believe that perhaps it's best if we don't do this, because seeing Nicole tremble and shake makes me question if she truly wants to do this.

"Nicole, it's all right," I whisper. "We don't have to do this, if you don't want to."

She shakes her head. "I'm sure of this, Victor," she says. "I'm here, and you're here. What else can we do? Because, you know how I feel about you."

I stay very still, holding her hand limply in mine as though she is an old rag doll; but Nicole is no rag doll. And now, the last part of what she says makes my stomach turn over inside me, and my heart fly in circles so that if I were made of light air, I would be bouncing off the bed and out the window. But with Nicole keeping me on the bed, and my silent joy tying me down, I truly can't do anything but look at her. And I can see Nicole thinking the same thing.

She presses her lips to my face like a child to a lollipop, and never stops once to take a breath in kissing me. In return, I never do the same to her. And to be truthful, words can't describe having Nicole there with me, with her arms wrapped around my body and touching the skin so that a beautifully strange tingle flies through me. It's a feeling that I have never felt before, and it's one of the greatest, most exciting ones I ever felt. I know it now; I love Nicole. I love her, more than my artwork - more than myself. To hold her is as though I'm holding an angel, wrapping me not within ordinary arms, but with wings of extraordinary grace and beauty in a holy light. But feeling this new feeling that I've never felt before, it's actually rewarding. Whatever strange place Nicole had come from, I should find her parents and thank them, for creating a brilliant, beautiful young woman that I have become incredibly attracted to.

As time goes on- if there really is any time at all when Nicole and I are together in the bed- worry and anxiety over this new feeling disappears, and I find that I'm thoroughly enjoying this splendid night with Nicole. Scandalous as it sounds, I discover new places in her that I have never seen before. And having her lying on top of me, with my hands cupped around her breasts, I can feel my love for her growing like a great oak tree, going towards the sky and beyond. Coldly touching me, her key is dangling from her neck, pressed between my chest and her own.

Nicole reaches up her hand, and brushes away a section of my hair hanging over my eyes. "You know, you're kind of handsome when you're nervous," she says.

"And…what about you? You look beautiful when you're…beautiful?"

Nicole laughs softly, and lays her head down on my chest, seeming to settle from our night of excitement. It surprises me not to feel the cold key on my skin, but it feels as though a warm fire has taken its place, Nicole still keeping me tucked inside her wings. Slowly, my hands slip around her waist, and gently tug her so that she comes closer. Then again, I don't have to pull, because she inches closer to me by herself. She intertwines her fingers with mine, and takes a deep breath, exhaling just as slowly.

The comfort of her touch and a feeling of such calm is enough that I begin to drift into sleep, barely hearing Nicole whisper as she drifts away too. Her voice sounds far away, as though she is actually walking away into the darkness, instead of lying beside me.

"You will be my love…always…"


	17. Victor's Resolution

Chapter 17 (Victor)

There's nothingness, even as I awaken to a bright morning. The sun is second to wake me, though.

"Victor, what are you doing? Drawing Buckingham Palace?" I instantly sit up when I recognize my mother's voice from downstairs. I can hear her stomping up the stairs, and my father skittishly following her. I gasp when I remember. Nicole is still here with me and my parents were only a few steps away from discovering us together! My stomach turned over when I heard the doorknob begin to creak, and then open the door.

Mother waddles into the room, fanning herself madly. "Goodness, Victor, I just about passed of embarrassment when you weren't out there, and…" She jumps back a few steps, letting out a surprised yelp. "Victor, what in the good world…?"

I look down at myself, and I yelped in surprise to see that I was half naked, still without a nightshirt from last night, and that Nicole is gone from the bed. With a hard gulp, I glance on the floor, and notice my suit lying in a crumpled pile, next to Nicole's hair ribbon. It's in plain sight for my mother to notice, and I try not to look at the ribbon again, in hopes that Mother won't see it. The very last thing I can take is my mother believing I have gone mad by sleeping half naked, and stealing from her wardrobe. Thinking fast, I pull up the blankets and cover myself so Mother won't be so afraid of seeing me as I am.

"That was quite the display," Mother finally says. "Please, Victor, do not expose yourself like that again. And pick up that pile of clothes; it makes the room seem to be a maid's."

Father peeks into the room. "Come, come, dear, I heard you scream, and I came to see the ruckus. What happened?"

"Victor has made his room seem to be a maid's with the mess by the bed," Mother tells him. "He doesn't realize that it is nearly noon, and he has not stepped downstairs. Really, what could have caused him to sleep so late?"

The more Mother speaks, the more I find myself hiding under the covers. Now if only they would leave the room, and allow me some time to dress, and rid them of the mess on the floor. I glare at them as Mother continues to talk to Father about how she disapproves of the state of my bedroom. How many times does that make that I have heard it? At least the thirtieth.

"And need we remind you?" Mother says, "that besides the timing of you becoming a fish merchant, brides are becoming scarce. They are waiting for you to sweep one of them off to a wonderful life, with riches, and fame, and high stature in society."

"Ah, yes, dear- crumpets with the Queen," Father states, glancing up at the ceiling.

"Costumed balls, the finest people in the entire city, tea with the Queen…" Mother twirls towards Father, and begins to sweep him away as though in a dance. "That is what we shall get when Victor marries. The finest of the finest shall be his. We shall see to it."

"But how can I find one when you are forcing me to work so much?" I wonder out loud. I want to hear their answer, to find out which they want more- for me to be a fish merchant and gain money for the family, or for me to marry.

"You have been watching the streets these days, right?" Mother asks. "There has to have been four or five young ladies you might wish to court."

This might be it, in which I could tell them of Nicole. The thought excites me, because it will release me from their incessant talk of me having to find a bride as well as to be on duty. But, in order for me to court Nicole, my parents would see to it that I got permission from her own parents. I don't know Nicole's parents. I don't even know where she was from- Australia, America; she could be from Timbuktu and I don't know. Instantly, I see my chances of courting Nicole and introducing her to my parents fly out the window. I can't court her unless I meet her parents, and for all I know, she might not even have parents.

"The time is short, that is all," Father says, adjusting his spectacles on his small nose. "Victor, there are many good women is this city. I think you will find one."

"Thank you, Father," I murmur, so low that not even I cam hear myself. Is it possible for me to readjust, and actually search for a real woman that I can court on my parents' behalf? But I can't bring myself to think of loving any other woman but Nicole, especially when I could have fixed this mistake a long time ago, had I only introduced her earlier.

"Good, now come, the day is waiting, and there is a lovely woman just waiting for you to reel her in," Mother says before sauntering out, Father following close behind her.

I dodn't like this at all. The deadline is coming faster than I thought. What's worse- they expect me to find myself a bride, and at the same time, still work to become a fish merchant. Really, I wonder, what could be worse than being forced to cope with these two awful tasks at once? Then again, I already have a candidate for a suitable bride- Nicole. But my parents had never given me a chance to tell them that she existed. And, although my parents don't know about the woman that I love, I'm still very much intent on making her my own.

Of course, it's against all the rules of society, but although I have not introduced her to anyone or met her parents, I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Her presence is enough to fulfill me in the life of a fish merchant, as long as she will be my wife.

Unfortunately, what with my parents trapping me inside this predicament as though it were a gilded cage, it will be difficult to see Nicole again, and finally tell her that she's the one I want to marry; that it doesn't matter if my parents, or the rest of the town, know her or not. I have made my choice, and I know, from deep within me, that no one will stop me from making Nicole my wife.


	18. Secrets

Chapter 18 (Nicole)

The park- as far as I can tell- is the most beautiful place in the city. Even on the gloomiest of days, the happiest of people make it light up with life. And now, with my pleasurable feelings still bottling up in my heart, I knew that I can put them to good use by adding to the poem. It feels wonderful. I shake as my happy feelings are poured from my hand and onto the paper, creating some of the prettiest writing I have ever created, in my humble opinion.

Sadly, I keep reaching my free hand beside me, thinking that my hand will fumble upon Victor's- that he will take it and kiss it with the same tenderness as last night. It startles me every time that I notice that he's not there, and I begin to regret not waiting for him to come with me here. Still, it's not like I can wake him up in the middle of the night and bring him with me wherever I go. I can't make him follow me around like a little lamb when he has obligations that he must fulfill away from me. Nonetheless, I'm in love, and I want to be with him as much as I can before I might be forced to leave this place. Well, that is, if I ever do. Or can.

It's now that I really begin to wonder. I know now that I'm not dreaming, and that I'm actually in this nineteenth-century town, back in time, and in love with a young man that really needs me there. But I'm back in time- how am I ever going to get back to the present time? Is it possible that the trip has already ended and I'm stuck here for good? Or maybe, the magic only worked in a one-way direction- I'm only be able to go back in time, and not forward. The further I ponder, the less I begin to write, until I'm sitting on the bench with my head in my hands, the paper beside me. A knot is forming in my stomach, and I wish that I could have Victor hold me, and push these thoughts away, because I want more than anything to be able to stay with him and not worry about my old life. With him in my life, I never want to go back.

My thoughts train through my mind as I watch the happiness taking place around me. Some select adults are permitting their children to slip and slide through the snow drifts, laughing and smiling, while the adults just talk and gesture. And among the park-goers, I spot a woman walking slowly, at snail's pace. Her cloak is wrapped tightly around her, fluttering in the gentle winter breeze. Her round face and large eyes instantly give her away, and I rise from the bench to greet her.

"Victoria," I say, prompting her to speak.

Slowly, she lifts her head, and I notice tears streaming down her face. Her eyes have changed a slight shade of pink, as well as the outside of her eyes. Her hair is beginning to fall from her tightly-wound bun. She looks a wreck.

"Nicole?" she asks, pausing to heave a deep, sad sigh. "Oh, dear. So much has happened. So many things have gone wrong."

"What? What's happened?" I ask her. "Come on, let's go sit down. You look awful."

I lead her to the bench, and instantly she slouches downwards, leaning her head further towards her lap as I look her down. Compared to the healthy, beautiful Victoria I saw at the museum, this one looks sick and depressed. Tears are still streaming, and her shoulders are shaking.

"Please, Victoria, just tell me what happened," I plead with her. "Try to relax. Take a breath."

"I don't see how I can," she whispers, her voice a high-pitched whimper. "Something awful has happened to my family…" She still hesitates to tell me, but I want her to trust me.

"Go on." I look right at her, wanting to hear her story.

"My parents, my family…have gone bankrupt," she finally says. "There is no money left in our safe."

"Are you sure?" I ask gently. "It can't be all gone." I'll be honest; it saddens me to hear this news, but I'm surprised. Victoria struck me as the kind of person who would keep her secrets to herself, rather than relaying them to others. And this news happened to be that her family was bankrupt. Without any money left; all gone away without a trace.

At my question, Victoria just nods her head, so slightly that it seems like she doesn't nod it at all.

"Well, look, it'll be okay, all right?" I say, trying my best to reassure her. "Things will turn out. You'll see soon enough."

"No, you don't understand," Victoria murmurs, hiccupping occasionally through her tears. "A family without a cent to their name can never redeem themselves in society. And a woman without a dowry, is no woman at all. At least, that is what my mother tells me."

"That's not right," I tell her. "You don't have any money, but you're still a respectable woman, right? I mean, well, maybe you could survive without a dowry- you have your good name."

Victoria sighs and takes off the hood of her cloak. "Please, Nicole, if you could not speak like that to me," she says, her eyes so big and sad that I already begin to reconsider speaking optimistically to her again. "When a woman's family is bankrupt, she is not thoroughly respectable anymore. She would be pretty lucky to find a wealthy suitor who can accept her under such circumstances; but, it's what I must do for a marriage my parents will set up for me. I fear it might be difficult for them, for they are distraught enough as it is, and other men simply…won't do well for me the rest of my life." She hangs her head even lower when she's done speaking.

"What do you like to have in a man?" I ask out of pure curiosity.

Victoria lifts her head ahead, and stares straight ahead, retaining that position with some faraway eyes, like she's dreaming. "Well, I like to see passion, care, perhaps a kindness that no one else I know has. I suppose a…stuffy society like this needs someone who is expressive, and reserved. Truthfully, I do not know how I can sum it all up for you." For a minute, I think I might have actually seen her smile, because thinking about her dream man makes her happy; I know it makes me happy when I do. And now, I have mine in my hands, waiting for me so we can continue our temporary lives together, at least until we- if we ever did- married.

Yes, it's true. I do have a deep desire to become Victor's for the rest of my life, to see that we can be together for many, many more years. Indeed I find myself smiling when I picture summer days on the beach, splashing in the waves, and picnics on the shore; attending balls and parties, dancing the way we did the night that we fell in love, and just being together forever.

Suddenly, I can feel my spirits dampening as quickly as they had lifted. My fantasies have gotten away from me, because unfortunately, Victor's parents don't know me, and I could tell from his stress that his deadline to find a bride and marry is very short. How could we live a life together if his parents don't even know that the woman he loves existed? My stomach churns madly with the thought, and the idea of me being separated from him made me want to die. It's no joke; if I couldn't stay with, nor marry, the man that I love, than what point is there to staying here any longer? What point is there to staying in this city, waiting for him to make a move, or getting away from some new wife that he'd be forced to carry across the threshold of a new home? I might carry on, but not as strongly. I would miss that sweetness about him- that reserved quality that reeled me in as easily as you could reel in a minnow…

Reserved…kindness…and passion…

Victoria's ideal man qualities play through my mind like a broken record, and much to my surprise, I find a startling connection. I begin to feel just a tad frightened, as I'm finding that Victor and Victoria's personalities and predicaments are almost exactly alike. Victoria's well-known family needs money, and Victor's has that. He's in danger of an arranged marriage, and so is she.

Instantly, my throat goes dry, and I don't speak for several minutes. Is it possible that these two good friends of mine could soon be caught in the exact same web? In other words, the same arranged marriage?

The minute that I consider this notion, my heart just about stops. I'm not going to give up the man I love for some arranged marriage that would tear us apart if it happened. After all, I have asked for a miracle several times in my life- that someone will love me for me, and I got it. But if the two- Victor and Victoria- just happen to be caught in the same marriage, then what will…

"Nicole, are you all right?"

Victoria's words snap me from my worried frenzy. She brings me back into reality, but those worried thoughts are now tucked into the back of my head.

I nod my head, taking several deep breaths to dash away these shocking thoughts.

When I calm myself again, I glance at Victoria again, and attempt to resume my conversation with her.

"Well…you know…," I say, actually beginning to question what I'm saying, "I might know a few fellows around here that could be good candidates for your dream man."

Victoria's head snaps up, and she looks at me with such wonder she looks like an awestruck child. "You do?" she asks. "Please do describe them to me."

I tense up, once again at conflict with myself. If I tell her about Victor, then what might that lead to? Will she inform her parents of his family? And then, might the arranged marriage commence after all? To be honest, I don't know what the outcome might be, considering I have never met Victoria's parents face-to-face, and I'm growing more and more afraid of what Victoria would do if I informed her of Victor. I love him, and am in no position to let him go, so there would always be chances for us to one day marry. But, what about Victoria? I would feel guilty if I married basically the exact description of her dream man, and she is left alone to marry some stuffy old lord who would care more about social standing than her. I know that Victoria would not be happy with that life, and neither would I. So, what am I supposed to do? Risk letting go of Victor for Victoria, or marry him and leave this poor woman for some life that I know she won't enjoy?

"Is there something wrong?" Victoria asks, breaking my train of thoughts again. "You're awfully quiet."

I shake my head, suddenly feeling a whole lot more tense. I can't make this decision in front of her. I need time to think about this.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone walking towards our bench. The person is walking with a proud bounce to his step, and with a groan in my throat, I recognize him.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he says, tipping his hat to us. "Apparently, I've come at a good time- good lady Nicole, you've brought your friend."

"Afternoon, Lord Mark," I reply, bowing my head to substitute for a curtsy. Now is not a time for him to be around, particularly when Victoria is feeling down and I was in conflict with myself. And certainly, I'm not willing to listen to his "charms", because they're nothing but awkward compliments, weak attempts of chivalry. Not anymore because, unlike what he thinks, I'm taken.

"Dear god, is that a new dress?" he asks, gesturing towards the dress I'm wearing. I'm still in Victor's mother's evening dress and shawl. "Well, it certainly is lovely. If I didn't know, I'd assume that you were royalty."

"Thank you," I say, pushing my poem behind my back.

"But, do suppose you could introduce me to your friend?" he says, gesturing towards Victoria. "I must mention, she is a beautiful woman."

Victoria wrings her hands nervously, but then puts them behind her back courteously. "My name is Victoria Everglot," she says, barely meeting his eyes.

Lord Mark's eyes widen subtly, and smiles just as demurely. I don't really like what I see behind that look; it's like he sees something delicious about Victoria, that she possesses something of use to him. It kind of scares me to see him look that way compared to Victoria's sweet but forced grin.

"A true pleasure meeting you, Miss Everglot," Lord Mark says with a grin, slightly more suspicious than his last. "And a true beauty as well."

Victoria curtsies gently, and very shortly.

He turnes to glance at the both of us. "Glorious day meeting both of you," he says. "In fact, would you two ladies like to come back with me to my place for a cup of tea?" He grins seductively, specifically at Victoria.

My heart hammers in my chest, a warning no doubt. I step up beside Victoria, clutching my poem in my other hand as I brush her sleeve. "Actually, Miss Everglot and I have a previous engagement at the museum downtown," I say quickly. "In point of fact, I just realized that we are late." I begin to pull Victoria alongside me towards the direction of the museum.

"Must the both of you go so soon?" Lord Mark asks, stepping closer to us as we continue to move. "It's apparent that you just arrived here. Please, come with me. I could certainly use such pleasant company."

"No, really," I continue, starting to get desperate. "I think that we should carry on to the museum. Maybe some other time?"

"But, ladies, there's no other time but the present," he presses further.

"Please, sir," Victoria adds, sounding genuinely frightened. "Miss Hudson and I have important dates. Can you let us be on our way, good sir?"

I notice a vein in Lord Mark's porcelain head start to pulse, and I know that he's losing his patience much faster than before. His eyes twitch, and I feel my heart hammer even harder. He's not going to give up.

"Don't disappoint me," he whispers, sounding desperate. "I need you ladies to come with me."

"No," I say, helping Victoria take that final step when we were out of the park. "We must be going, and that's that."

Lord Mark stalks up to Victoria and me. He stands perfectly still, and then grabs the both of us. Victoria yelps, and I bite my tongue trying to not scream, drawing blood.

"Don't resist me," he growls, and his face takes on that of a deranged madman- eyes wide, teeth clenched angrily, and nose scrunched, that vein in his white forehead pulsing like an angry snake. Victoria looks like a scared child in his hands, with her eyes wide and arms struggling to get free from his grasp. "Now let's be on our way."

Victoria and I both struggle to get away, but his grip is like a steel vice, clasped coldly around our arms with melded firmness. And no matter how we scrape our feet against the cobblestones and pull away with our full weight, he still holds like an iron prison.

Finally, when I find that just trying to pull away isn't going to work, I take a breath and whirl around, my fist flying through the air. It comes in contact with Lord Mark's nose, and his hands fly to grab where I punched it. Immediately, Victoria and I try to run, but I'm pulled to the ground when Lord Mark's hand catches me again. He begins to drag me away, and I watch as Victoria runs away from him.

"Victoria! Hold on! Wait!" I scream after her, but she's already off and away down the street. I try to call after her again, but Lord Mark has suddenly booted me in the back. I yelp and find, to my great dismay, that yelling and screaming for help isn't an option.

"If you scream one more time, I'll kill you!" he whispers as we reach an old house at the very edge of a lowly street.


	19. One Last Wish

Chapter 19 (Nicole)

I sit down in an old chair as the crazed lord paces the room.

"What I would like from you is simple," he says. "You bring me to see your parents, and they will grant me permission to court you. In time, you shall become my bride-to-be, and we'll be a blissfully wedded couple. Lord and Lady Barkis Bittern."

The sudden change of name is shocking to me as it's strange. "What, or who, are you talking about?" I wonder aloud. "You're Lord Mark Prestern. Are you?"

"Close, but not quite," he answers. "My _real _name is Lord Barkis Bittern. Lord Mark has never existed. Well, at least he did until I got you into my hands. My real name is what got me into trouble last time I tried to marry. But that young bride got snatched away from me, and they framed me for her troubles."

"You liar! You killed her!"

"Temper, Nicole," he says, glaring at me. "You'll find it fitting when you are mine and you're taken under the Prestern name. My real name is a secret that links us."

"Why me?" I asks him. "What makes you think I would want to be your bride? You're what, fifty, and I'm not even twenty. You don't know anything about me!"

"I believe that I do," he says. "That you are acquainted with the wealthy Victoria Everglot. You therefore must be a rich lady yourself. As a matter of fact, I like a beautiful rich woman, like you are."

"Oh, whoa, you are way out of line!" I say. "I'm in love with someone else, and you should know that I have absolutely no intentions of marrying a scoundrel like you!"

"I won't be a scoundrel once you're mine," he says, inching closer to me. With a sickening touch, he lifts my chin so that our faces are close enough to kiss. I resist the urge to punch him, as I know I'll get in trouble again if I do. No doubt he's expecting me to, because he's pinned me to the chair by wrapping his fingers around my wrists. I tense, waiting for him to try and kiss me, but he never does. Instead, he just keeps me there, forcing me to look in his deranged eyes. In trying to keep my fear and disgust at bay, I fold my lips between my teeth. "I think you'll see that I'm a good match for you. By you- that is your money," he whispers.

I'm seriously urging to punch him in the gut- no, groin- but with him leaning over me and my hands pinned to the chair, there's no way I can do him physical harm. I'm stuck, and while he's leaning over me, all I can do is sit still as possible and wait for him to let me go from this chair.

He finally stops leaning over me, and I'm able to move again. And when I do I made the quickest move I can. I move to kick him in his sensitive spot, but as quickly as I raise my foot, he slaps me clear across my face. When I fall to the ground, he yanks me off the floor and clenches my wrist so tightly I feel my hand go numb.

"I warned you," he says. With a low growl, he turns and drags me deeper into the dark house. I notice along the way that it's in pitiful condition, actually of the very worst. Lanterns are dim and furniture is dusty and uncared for. Curtains are drawn across every window, probably to keep the world from seeing the abuse this man puts upon women who refuse to give him money. And it's no wonder- this place makes him look like a disguised hobo. All around, only the light from tiny holes in the ceiling and the curtains make some of the darkness go away.

I fear for my life suddenly as he takes me through the hallways, my dress becoming ragged from splinters and dust on the floor. Is this Lord Barkis also some kind of homicidal maniac who has an entire torture chamber, and torments women with his tools of destruction? Maybe he's going to take me to the kitchen, where he'll finish my life right then and there with a butcher knife like in all the horror movies. Thousands of horrible images flash through my mind when I wonder what he might do to me, and I instantly regret upsetting him. I was just angry, and scared that's all. I guess that if I'd just _cooperated_ with him, then I'd still be in that chair, safe as I could get here. And I find that I'm closing my eyes, trying not to look anymore at the house, and not think about what might happen to me soon.

Every once in a while, I feel Lord Barkis's gaze boring down on me, and my heart speeds up even faster as fear overtakes me. The way he's bringing me into the depths of the house with its darkness and decay is terrifying, and the unknown of the near future is even scarier; he had become extremely unpredictable!

Finally, I feel my head bump against something hard, forcing my eyes to open. I'm shocked to look again, but into nearly complete darkness as Lord Barkis pushes me into a tiny closet, just big enough for me to sit Indian-style. It's empty, like he'd planned to put me in here from the beginning, but it does have a tiny couch pillow taking up one corner. He has placed me so that my head is lying on the pillow and my legs are still spread outside. He then appears out of nowhere, and shoves me inside, slamming the door shut.

"I'll let you out once you agree to be a good wife to me," he says. "If you do not comply, I swear that you won't live to see the light of day again." With that, he stalks off, his footsteps fading away down the hallway.

The way he pushes me in, my back is pressed straight against the wall, with my legs squeezed into me. Carefully, I stretch them out so that they can rest against the closed door, which has a few holes rotting away from the wood, and I take a deep breath although I'm breathing in rancid air.

As I move my body to get comfortable, I feel a piece of paper scrape the floor. I slowly remove it from below me, and find that my poem is wrinkled, but the writing hasn't been smudged. Thank god it hasn't been destroyed altogether; because for now, this is the only reminder of Victor, and the one link I have to him before something might happen to me.

Trying to stay calm in the sadness that overwhelms me, I hug the poem to my chest, also trying hard not to cry. It's not going to get me anywhere, but maybe…it would feel nice, to cry a little. I shake my head to tell myself not to do that. It'll only make me feel weak and that I have given up. But no. This fight isn't over, and sooner or later, I'll have to take it upon myself to escape. But then, if I do, where would I go? If I escape, Lord Barkis is likely to hunt me down like some kind of animal, and if I go to Victoria, then she might get kidnapped, or killed. Much less, I can't go to Victor because, since he's my love, Lord Barkis will get rid of him on the spot. The thought of either of my friends dying nearly gives me a heart attack, and I press the paper harder against my chest to push these thoughts away.

Still, I do have one good thought. Maybe when I don't come by the cart, Victor might realize that something isn't right. He knows that I try to come by every day to see him, and especially after we made love last night. I shiver thinking of the experience, and try to keep that feeling in this dark time. Shutting my eyes, I try to relive the moment in my mind, remembering Victor's hands and his lips on me, and the euphoric feeling it gave me to know that he's my other half, who will fulfill me for life.

Somehow, thinking of Victor gets me thinking of Victoria. Hopefully, she made it home all right, and is staying well away from Lord Barkis, wherever he is now. I clench my teeth when I think of him, and what wicked things he's doing to me. It's annoying to think that a man could be that twisted thinking that taking a woman by force, and locking her in a closet, would get her to love him. But that's beside the point.

I harbor some secret hope that Victoria, or Victor, might get some help. They won't leave me trapped here, would they, because surely they'll start to worry? But then, Victoria's parents probably don't like her out of the house, and Victor is trapped…in his…fish-mongering and chopping…and…things…

I swallow hard and my heart nearly drops into my stomach when I remember that the two of them dn't even know each other, and maybe that I overlooked Victoria's ability to take matters into her own hands; she'd been pampered by stiff parents her whole life, so what do they know about taking matters into account? I curse her parents, angry for sheltering her as they did, because I know, by that realization, that Victoria isn't coming.

I huddle even deeper into the corner when I think of Victor again. Shutting my eyes, I make a silent wish that he is trying to find me, because I know that I won't get out of here without help. If he winds up finding me, we'll have to overcome Lord Barkis together. Although I can't exactly picture Victor doing hand-to-hand combat with Lord Barkis, I still savor the idea that we'll be together again.

But I suddenly wonder; if Lord Barkis takes pity on me, will he still let me live, because no doubt if he lets me go I'm likely to babble on him. Even if I cooperate with him, I'm still a witness to his deeds. What he's doing to me won't evaporate into thin air. I'll run out and tell the police all about him, and then he'll be in prison, and I'll live happily ever after in a happy-la-di-da-la-di-da world…

Nope. Not likely. Despite his new unpredictability, I have a sickening feeling that he's not going to let this little problem between us stick around after I'm off the hook. A witness to an evil deed will have to die for the culprit to live.

I shiver suddenly and I begin to feel tears pricking at my eyes. I tell myself not to cry and not to give in to my weakness, but this feeling of loneliness and distance between me and Victor is heart-wrenching, and too much for me to take.

So, I huddle against the pillow, and cross myself, whispering a prayer that if something happens to me before Victor finds me, that he will always remember me, and that the museum open up to him; really, for the world to open up for him. His happiness is my last wish, and the one I want granted the very most.


	20. Searching for Nicole

Chapter 20 (Victor)

Two.

Quite possibly the worst number in the world.

Two days is how long it's been since I last watched Nicole walk down the street to see me. The way my parents are still carrying on about the looming deadline, it's seemingly as though things never happened between her and me. And the idea is tearing me to pieces.

It is truthfully every moment of my life that I wish for her to be with me, and that I wonder if she misses me too. I want for her to be in the confines of my own arms, to know that she is there to be my love. But it's incredibly harder to concentrate on the task of working when my true love is on my mind, and it doesn't help that Mother keeps carrying on about some news that she has for me.

Of course, when she is able to excuse me from my task, I breathe a sigh of relief, and she does too. But I find myself holding my breath when she starts to take me further into the house, and into the spare room at the very back. Mother always gave me important news in this room when I was a boy, and suddenly, I wonder what this means.

"Victor, Victor, have I got some news for you," she says excitedly, planting herself in front of me. Her head comes to just below my head, and quickly, she fixes the collar on my coat, shaking me a little.

"Wonderful news, Victor," she begins. "From now on, becoming a fish merchant will be your one and only priority."

"You mean…I don't have to marry anymore?" I ask her, suddenly scared and relieved all at once.

"No, silly Victor," she says, shaking her head. "I mean that, your father and I have relieved you of your task of finding a bride. A fine match for you honestly."

I tense all over, scared of out my wits as to what she will tell me. Or rather, who it is she has picked for me. At long last, it seems as though my worst fear is realized; my bride is going to be picked for me. But, who is she? Strangely, I begin to wonder if by some strange chance, that they have met Nicole, and her family. I try not to raise such a small hope, but I still hope with all I have that she is the woman they have picked. I will take no other woman as my wife, because Nicole is not like them; like no other woman I've ever met. I don't want to come back to reality and face the answer Mother will give me, only to relish in my feelings for Nicole. But then, against my will, I find myself asking the question.

"Who?" I ask.

"Oh, only the most beautiful, richest young woman we would ever know," Mother says. "The one and only Victoria Everglot, that is who."

Mother doesn't need to tell me anything more to make me feel intimidated and nervous, or to make my heart break in two. With this arranged marriage, I will never have a chance. I will never marry Nicole, and the thought tears me apart as much as a knife can tear through flesh. Just as much as a corner of a cart could tear open a palm of a hand. As…it did…Nicole.

An overwhelming shock takes me and I collapse into an old wooden chair behind me, as though the room itself knew that this news would be fatal. I suppose now that my greatest nightmare was not so much as an arranged marriage, but that I would never marry the woman I love above everyone else. I can never feel her against me, and still hope for a future with her. All those little hopes and wishes we have between us are crumbled up into dust and blowing away with the wind. At this point, marrying her is like trying to walk on an ocean wave- impossible.

I find now that all this time, I haven't been breathing, but I still can't bring myself to. I feel as though this news is killing me, tearing me limb from limb, while the world spins around me wildly. Truthfully, I don't know what to make of this news, whether I should be ecstatically happy or if I should be shocked. I decide to take neither path, and plainly accept the news, so that I won't have to dwell in my mother's presence for much longer.

"Th-thank you, Mother, for that news," I say. "I s-suppose I'll be anxious for w-when the wedding day c-comes."

"I assure you, Victor, you will have a glorious life with Miss Victoria," Mother says, leading me out of the room. "Don't you know what this will do for our family when you marry an Everglot woman? We shall be flown upwards towards the very heights of society, and so shall the fish market."

I shake my head at my mother's crazy dreams.

I stop at the foot of the staircase, and wait for my mother to go. The moment that she is gone, I head up the stairs, my sad thoughts slowly overtaking me. It'll be relief enough to be alone in my room, but more than anything, I want to be alone with Nicole. Since she has disappeared, I feel like the second half of myself is missing, and that perhaps my motivation for living up to society's expectations are becoming harder to keep, especially if I don't have her beside me.

And now, I'm growing more and more frustrated, and disappointed and sad, that in these two days, I never made an effort to break away from my duties and find Nicole, to tell her how I truly feel about her; because now, it's too late for us. I am bound to be married to a beautiful woman that I don't even know, and never to look back. Perhaps after this marriage, I will never draw again, or see the museum or go the places that I went to with Nicole, because my new wife will disapprove of my talents, just as everyone else has. Life will become an endless line of parties, stuffy conversations, and worries of who has more money and fortune than others. The very opposite of what I want for myself, and for my own future.

It's an idea that I don't even want to consider being true, but if Nicole is to disappear, can I come to love Victoria? Will I let her in as easily as I did Nicole? I doubt every question I ponder, but I still wonder, because I won't be able to turn away from Nicole without knowing that she's all right, and that she can go on without me. I don't have any likely chance of marrying her, but I still love her and care for her, and need to at the very least, tell her goodbye. My head slumps towards the floor when I think of telling her I can't see her anymore, and then, I ask myself something. Would I rather see her one more time, and then never again? Or would I abandon all rules of what I should do in society to be with Nicole forever and risk disgrace to my family and the Everglots?

Taking a deep breath, I lay down on my bed, and try to relax. Despite my best efforts to gain control of myself, I feel more and more like I'm beginning a slow descent into a spiral of insanity. I'm caught between the future of my own family, the family of my fiancé, and then my own, the one I want to have with Nicole forever. If I stay here and give into what is expected of me from society, then I'm doomed to a life of stiff conversation and conformity. But with Nicole, I trust that I will be happy for a very long time. I don't want to risk a life that I don't want, and a woman that I don't know, much less love.

Of course, I realize that I'm going against all my duties of being a gentleman in high society. But I feel a new resolution. I refuse to believe that simply due to the fact that I'm going to be married, I will also lose my true love. And actually, because of this resolution, I'm not going to get married. At least not to Victoria Everglot.

I take another breath and face my decision. I will find Nicole, and then she and I will run away from this city. I am through being conformed in the way that I have all my life, and once she and I are away, the both of us will be free for good.

Standing from my bed, I stride down the stairs and out the door to the cart, where I notice Mayhew and the fishmonger mechanically performing their work. Preparing myself, I straighten my posture and walk out towards them.

"Mayhew," I prompt.

He turns around after putting a fish on the cart. "Master Victor," he says hoarsely. "Yes, what is it?"

"I need to ask a favor of you," I say. "That woman, Nicole, she is missing. I haven't seen her in two days, but I need your help finding her. I need to find her before the wedding."

"Master Victor," he whispers, gesturing towards the cart. "Your parents will have me off the job if I step off of it."

"Mayhew, please," I plead. "This is not just another woman. Nicole is the woman I love. I'm not going to leave her. Can you do this for me? And for the woman I love?"

Mayhew glances between me and the vendor's cart. Finally, he removes his apron and starts towards behind the house, where he had last left our horse and carriage. I smile after him, regretting saying that I would not ask him any more favors. And when I see him come out with the horse galloping into the street, I wave goodbye to him as he rides off in search of Nicole.

Watching him go, I press my hands together and silently pray that he will bring Nicole back to me. "Soon, Nicole," I whisper. "I promise, you and I are going to be free…from everything."


	21. Good News

Chapter 21 (Victor)

I sit in my room for hours, waiting for Mayhew to return with news of Nicole. I leap from my desk seat every time I see a carriage, but am disappointed when I see it pass by the house. I did try not to rush Mayhew, but finding Nicole is more important to me than anything in the world.

To distract myself- unsuccessfully, I uncover my sketchbook and quill and begin to draw an outline of Nicole's face on the paper. Closing my eyes, I picture her smiling face shining from the frame of her dark hair. I picture her eyes, glinting when they look at me, and the key hanging beneath her chin. Somehow, I feel I can touch the cold metal again the way I had the night that Nicole and I were together in bed. It seems as though that key has become the link between us, as it touched us in our hearts when we were together.

I've never been one for intuition, but I can suddenly recall that magical feeling that I got when Nicole's key touched me, and it's right there at this moment. Relishing in that feeling, I close my eyes and imagine where Nicole could possibly be, and that she is all right. I even find myself whispering to her, wishing she can hear me.

"Nicole, where are you?" I whisper. "Please come back. I miss you terribly."

But then, as if on cue in a theatrical production, Mayhew bursts into the room.

"Master Victor," he says, heaving and coughing loudly. "I have news…of miss…lady…"

At his words, I leap from my desk chair and rush to Mayhew. I place my hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. "Breathe, Mayhew, breathe," I command gently. "Now please, what do you know? Where is she?"

"I caught some police downtown," he replies, breathing heavily. "They said they were looking for the same lady. Another lady said that your lady Nicole was kidnapped. Taken down to the slummy towns and held against her will, they said."

"What? Kidnapped? By who?" I ask, jumping back in surprise.

"They said they didn't know who," Mayhew answers. "All they said, was the slummy towns. Very dirty houses."

I don't hesitate any longer, and immediately ask Mayhew to take me to the part of town he described. I've been warned all my life never to go down there, but this is the final step. Soon enough, I'll bring Nicole close to me, and right then and there, ask her to marry me.

Soon enough, we will be free to begin our life together, and no one can stop us.


	22. Battles Inside and Out

Chapter 22 (Nicole)

My head hovering just above the paper, I find my hands shaking as they write. I have no one to talk to, so I pour my heart onto the paper. I'm almost done with the second side, and I need more to finish the poem. As I write, I try not to start crying again, because the pillow I'm leaning against is already wet with them. For every night that Lord Barkis keeps me in here, I cry myself to sleep, worried that at any minute he will wake me up and kill me. Even more, I cry for Victor, wishing that he's there; to feel his warmth and his gentleness throwing vibes through my heart so hard that it beats feverishly. But for now, the only warmth I can get is from the orange light of the sunset seeping through the holes in the door.

I want so badly to see the sun again, to walk in its warmth with Victor again. And now, thinking of just that makes me want to cry, my strength to resist tears fading away as quickly as the sun is.

Finally, the sun disappears behind the curtains into evening darkness, and I find that I'm pleading for it not to go and leave me in this depressing darkness of night. I want, just more time before my life might end, to see the sun and Victor together at once; but life isn't listening to me. At last, I just slamm my head into my lap and begin to sob, tears smearing some of the words of my poem.

I grieve; I grieve for everything- for when I was free, when I could write and move, and even for my parents. I regret that I was so mad at them the last time I saw them, and that it might be my last. Though I imagine that Victor will rescue me on a white horse like in all the stories, I doubte he will get past the delusional lord holding me hostage. In sadness, I put down the poem and pray, because it's the only comfort I have at the tips of my fingers. I pray and pray, for someone to help me, for some way for me to escape, and to see my parents and my old life again. But then, if only I know the way back.

Then, not too far away, I hear a voice, calling into the house. The voice is unintelligible and unclear, but then there come more footsteps, and a door creaking open. I cringe, backing further into the closet against the tear-soaked pillow. I folde the poem into my waistband and hold still, trying not to make a sound. Keeping my eyes shut, I listen in fear as the footsteps come closer and closer still. Then the voice calls out again-more clearly, and my heart just about leaps when a long-lost memory, like a dream within a dream, comes back to me.

I hold my breath as I stand up inside the tight space, and open the door. My heart is hammering hard enough to break through my chest, but my happiness is great enough to shake the world when I finally see him again.

"Victor." I whisper his name, and to me it becomes the sweetest sound in the world.

He stops in his steps, and slowly turns on his feet. I see his eyes light up like they never have before, and his smile becomes the sun despite the dimness around us.

"N-Nicole?" he stammers, amazed.

That familiar stammer is all I need to break into a run towards him. I throw myself into his arms so quickly I worru I might knock him over, but he holds like a toy soldier. Dear god, the way his arms feel around me is like I've just been reborn, feeling lighter than air, and the greatest surge of love that I ever felt. I feel him kiss the top of my head, and I lift my face to kiss him- so that he knows how much I longed for him to be with me again. Just kissing him is all I need to fulfill me again, giving off that satisfying jolt of electricity that is so beautiful and passionate that no other pleasurable thing in the world can surpass it at all.

"You're here! Oh my God!" I exclaim, kissing him again. "Don't you ever leave me again."

"I don't want to," he replies, his voice only a breath of air. "I love you too much."

"Nor I you," I say, my voice just as breathy and excited. "I honestly thought I'd never see you again."

"I don't think I could stay away from you forever," Victor says.

I laugh, and just lean into him. "Just promise me that we can stay together for a long time," I say.

"You mean with me!" a commanding voice sounds from behind us. Gasping, I turn around and notice the threatening silhouette of Lord Barkis, his hands clasped together in fake happiness. "Oh, what a joyful reunion; our two young, sweet lovers are back together again. I suppose now you think you can live happily ever after, right? Not when I'm finished with you."

Victor takes my hand and pulls me behind him for protection.

"Young knight in shining armor thinks he can protect you, my lady," Lord Barkis croons.

"Who are you?" Victor asks, his voice shaking.

"_Who_ are _you_ to try and take away my bride?" Lord Barkis retorts.

"You married him?" Victor asks suddenly, turning back to me in shock.

"No!" I shout at Lord Barkis. "If you were the last man on earth…!"

"Quite the sorry answer, Nicole," he says, "because you know what happens when you don't behave."

"You can't stop me," I say. "You're not my husband."

Lord Barkis moves swiftly and surprisingly, and pulls a sword from a coat of arms beside him. He points it at me.

"One more word from you, Nicole, and I'll surely kill you!" His voice is gravelly and mad, but he doesn't scare me as much as he probably hopes. I feel much braver and stronger now that I have Victor here with me.

I put my hands up, and slowly walk towards him, like I'm going to forgive him. I pretend to be calm, and put my face closer towards his. When he moves, I swing my hand forward and hit his nose, and this time in the quiet, I hear the crunch. He moans, followed by the clattering of his sword dropping to the floor. Moving fast, I pick it up and hold it in front of me and Victor for protection.

"Move one step, _milord_, and I'll slit you down the middle," I threaten.

Lord Barkis stumbles around before he finally regains himself. His nose is bleeding, but he's trying to hold strong against someone he has clearly underestimated.

"Good…good form, lady," he says. But then, slowly but with strength, he grabs the other sword from the coat of arms. "But not good enough."

He instantly swings for me, but I block him with a speed that surprises me. Behind me, I hear Victor gasp loudly. I try not to focus so much on him as I am on Lord Barkis, and try my very hardest to best his sword-fighting, in which he seems to have some experience. I leap from place to place, blocking him best I can, but I soon grow tired from leaping around. Still, remembering Victor is watching me, I dare not lose my focus or my strength. Every moment, I'm forced to move quickly, knowing that if I don't, I'll be killed on the spot.

When the lord and I have sword-fought in a circle and I turn to see Victor, I see that he's cowering against the wall. His eyes are wide and his expression showing such fear that I'm suddenly in conflict as to whether I should finish the battle right here and kill Lord Barkis, or make a run for it so that Victor won't be in such fear. No! You will not be distracted. Victor will be fine; you just have to finish this without dying!

Finally, with that last thought, I take a swing at the lord, and find that I've only sliced open his coat. I'm left in surprise when suddenly, I feel a searing pain in my stomach. I hear Victor scream my name, which is blacked out halfway with the intense pain that cuts through me like a thousand of Lord Barkis' swords. I see my dress begin to turn red out of the corner of my eye, and I grow even more scared when I notice how badly I'm bleeding.

I fall to the floor, trying to make sense of what's happened to me. The pain is too much however for me to comprehend, and I worry suddenly that I'm dying, because it certainly feels that way. My eyes instinctively shut and I try not to scream. The outside world fades away as I begin to hurt more and more.

Slightly above my inner screaming, I hear Lord Barkis' grunt of triumph, and the _shing _of a blade swinging through the air. I prepare for the end, but am surprised when I hear another clash of metal, as swords meet each other. Scared, I open my eyes and notice that Victor has taken my place in the fight, swinging this way and that at Lord Barkis. It's still very dim, so it becomes hard to tell what's happening. Despite my little flash of joy at seeing him defending me, I still don't have the strength to watch the battle happen, so I shut my eyes again and curl into a ball. I don't know what more of this I could take; I'm bleeding to death and my love is fighting a deadly battle that can leave him dying too. And now, the pain is great enough that I start to cry, the tears soaking the floor beneath me and the warm blood soaking through my dress quickly.

Finally, I hear a great clash and clattering, and then some yelping as footsteps start out the door. It's quiet now, and footsteps begin coming towards me. I hold my breath and prepare to meet the winner of that battle, and then, I feel arms begin to pick me up. When I open my eyes, I see Victor holding me in his arms on the floor, cradled against his chest.

"Nicole?" he asks. "Oh goodness, you're bleeding!"

I shoot my eyes down towards the soaked torso of my dress, which is now deep maroon with the blood. I scream out and grope around me for anything that can stop the bleeding, cause I know that if I don't I might die. At last, I'm able to rip away the drooping fabric of a chair and press it up the skirt of my dress and into my stomach. My hands are warm and wet with the blood and I try to keep my breathing steady.

Victor holds me closer to him, seeming to make sure he's holding some part of me, not to let me go now when I might be dying. Stray tears fall down my face and they plop gently on the floor. Victor gently turns me in his arms and presses his face into my shoulder.

"Oh, Nicole, dear Nicole," he whispers, on the brink of crying. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I let you get hurt."

"It's not your fault," I say hoarsely. "I just wasn't smart enough to see it coming. And now…I'm…dying…" I don't want to say that to him, but my strength is leaving me like water bursting through a dam, destroying whatever is in its path. And suddenly, I know that my dying strength is destroying Victor, because he starts to cry too. I turn slowly to comfort him, and hold him close enough that our hearts are only an inch apart from each other. His is beating hard and strong, but I know what kind of emotion lays beneath it. He's scared for me, and I am too.

From far away, through my crying, I hear a door open. I try to hold back my tears even more as I see a shadowy figure emerge into the house. I know suddenly that it's not Lord Barkis because the man is as skinny as Victor, but not as tall. In fact, he's a little stout, looking a few inches shorter than I am.

"Lady?" he calls out, in a voice so raspy it's high-pitched. "Where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Noticing the stranger, Victor immediately starts to try and pick me up, but he struggles trying to get me up, trying to keep me from getting any more hurt. I try to help him by standing on my own, but it's way too hard, and my stomach still hurts terribly from the gash. My heart beats hard enough to burst from my chest, and I know instantly that this man means bad news. Panic rises and I still try to stand up, but I'm too weak.

My fears reach their peak when the man turns his head, and spots us. He begins to walk towards us, pulling something from his pocket in the meantime. I don't dare glance at what he pulls out, because I know I won't like it.

"Lady?" he asks. "Glad you decided not to leave. I was walking 'round the streets the other day, and I heard about a kidnappin' of a pretty young lady. Knew it would be me good old partner, but you know, it's disappointin' that he didn't stay here to witness the second part of his scheme. So, come, let's not waste my time. Where is the loot?" He rubs his fingers together, like he's fingering a coin between his fingers.

"There isn't any," I say quickly.

"What? No loot?" the man asks. "Oh, if the good, gullible rich families have it, then I think you does too. Actually, I looted a good old fam'ly the other day, and they are wastin' what they got to find me. Silly what some people will do, right?"

"Who are you talking about?" I ask.

"For me to know and you lady to figure out yourself," he replies. "I can tell you, they had a pretty stuffy, stout man runnin' it. Never smiled, and the lady had hair taller than me own leg. They got a nice young little lady too, but her eyes were too far apart from the other. Stills, she is a good match to be a destitute prostitute any day now."

Destitute? Stuffy parents? A pretty little lady? A little alarm at the back of my head is ringing pretty loudly. A destitute family that had a daughter like that could only be…

"You're the crook that robbed the Ev-…"

"Right, lady, you are a smart one."

"What is this about?" Victor asks me. "Do you know him?"

"He robbed my friend," I answer, "and now he thinks that I have a fortune to hand over." I turn back to face the dastardly crook. "But I have none!"

The crook steps closer to us. "What did I tell you about wastin' me time?" he asks, showing his Bowie knife. "Where is it?"

Victor and I stay absolutely still and don't say a word to the stranger. But then, Victor steps from behind me, and then up to the man.

"C-could you please, leave us be?" he asks, politely as a gentleman.

"Maybe I will," the man says. He instantly thrusts his knife out, but Victor dodges it so quickly, I gasp, never even seeing him move. He's swifter than I thought, but so is the strange crook.

"Or maybe I won't." The man brandishes the knife yet again, and prepares for another fight. "Do challenge me, kid." He begins pointing and jabbing at Victor, and he dodges him every time, moving with the same swiftness that surprised me.

As the crook jabs, Victor reaches across the floor from him, and picks up Lord Barkis' sword from the last fight. He begins to swing back and forth at the crook, stepping closer and closer with every target that he takes.

For several moments, the two fight, their weapons clashing pretty closely with every move. My hurt stomach seems to seep not only blood now, but my strong worries again for Victor's survival. I feel guilty that I can't help him, because I'm too hurt. But I'm also so overwhelmed with worry that I don't want to just sit here and do nothing at all. I search around the room, and see my own sword, which had clattered across the floor, close to where I'm sitting. Fighting my pain, I crawl across the floor to retrieve it, finally grasping the hilt in my hand. I grin, and turn back to observe the fight.

I begin to plan an attack, following the fight with my eyes. Wherever the crook goes, I follow, grasping the sword tightly to make my move. My body is tense with the wait and the pain still rocking me, but I'm determined to keep Victor from getting hurt as I am, and I will not back down from what I should do, no matter how scary.

The battle comes close to me again, and I wait for the crook's foot to find my sword point. When his feet come close, I grasp my sword and, when I swing with all my might, I hear his voice break into a scream as his feet are nearly sliced clean off his legs.

The man falls to the floor, grunting and yelping loudly. "You wretched bit…" His loud scream is cut off by another sword point aimed at his throat.

"Stay down," Victor commands. "Now, who are you?"

"I won't tell y…" the man starts, but Victor points his sword closer to the man's throat, close enough that if Victor moves again, it would slice through the man's throat and badly hurt him. I think that's what Victor intends to do, judging from the look of such anger and defiance he has. It's a side I've never seen before, and quite honestly, it amazes me to see he has it in him.

"Roy Hudson," the man answers.

I nearly cry out when he mentions his last name, because it's mine! Can it be that he and I are…related? I feel my draw drop open with the shock. It's impossible! This crook, who had robbed Victoria and her family of their money, and the reason my parents are so worried for me…is none other than my great-great grandfather Roy!

"Victor, wait!" I shout, upon realizing who this man is. "Wait, don't kill him!"

Roy stands up, when Victor lowers his sword, and crosses himself- although a little melodramatic, he seems genuinely grateful. "Bless you, lady," he says, "you truly are a kind little girl. What can I do to thank you? Anything"

"Just that you run out of here, and find a good woman," I say. "If you do, I promise you a wonderful future. Your old business partner did nothing but lie to you, but I- who spared your life- am telling you the truth."

"Truthfully, good lady?" Roy asks.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I say, crossing my heart to emphasize my words.

Roy takes my hands and kisses them multiple times. "Bless you once again," he says. "Me thinks I might try it. But if it doesn't work, me thinks I'll have you to blame."

I nod. "No, it'll work," I say. "And, I can see you having a wonderful great-great granddaughter, who will carry your memory for a very long time. You want her to do that?"

"If she is a pretty, sweet girl, then yeah, yeah," he says.

"Then, get out of here before they're all taken," I say, trying to smile genuinely, and pointing out the door.

Roy nods, and then runs out the door.

I feel good happiness for my great-great grandfather, but suddenly, now that he's gone, the memory of my stomach gash comes back to bring great pain. Despite that I've covered it, it still hurts a lot, and I can only lie down and try not to cry again.

Victor kneels down next to me, and I feel the tears come when I remember what meeting Roy means. Lord Barkis is gone now, but Roy will go on. Still, he's the man that robbed the Everglots, and if Victoria, or her parents, would ever find out, the scandal of her friend being related to the person who stole their riches, would be too great. I couldn't see her again, and I would lose my friend. And even after all this, I still want to be there for what she and her family face, but my great-great grandfather is the reason for what she's going through. I feel ashamed, the heaviness like a darkness hovering over me, never to go away. And now, despite that Victoria doesn't know, I know that I can't see her again, so as not to risk her the sadness when this little secret might be brought to the light.

But besides that, my cut is open and still bleeding, my strength nearly gone altogether. This is something that only real medical attention can cure. Nothing here can keep me from dying, and so I know that I will have to return to my own time to keep from that fate.

But I don't know how, and the blood is still seeping out.

The realization of my fate brings forth more tears, and Victor holds me close to him again. I'm glad to have him with me, but knowing that after I go back I might never see him again, it breaks me in half. My heart can't take separating from him, because I feel like I can't ever love anyone as I did him.

But, will telling him where- _when_- I'm from help save our love? I feel that if I tell him, he might not believe me, that maybe I'm crazy from my fright of the bleeding. Maybe he'd think that just sitting here and holding a cloth to my wound would help. But then, I know Victor better. He wouldn't just sit there and let me die. He loved me too much to let me die. I know that if he were dying, I would help him in any way I could. If I would do it for him with our strong love, then surely he would do the same just for me.

In this moment, I'm caught up in Victor's embrace, my head cradled in his hands and my body leaning against his arms. I'm crying hard, because now, in his very presence and the remembrance that I will have to leave him forever to save myself, I feel my heart cracking at the core, bursting into painful little bits of sharp glass that sear throughout me.

"Nicole," he whispers, leaning his head down as if to kiss me.

"Victor, oh, oh dear, dear Victor," I whisper back. "I'm sorry all this had to happen. If I had just fought back when he kidnapped me, then we wouldn't be in all this pain."

"It's not your fault. I should have known that sooner or later, I would face this."

"Face what?"

"Watching you in this pain, though...I hoped I would go first."

I chuckle, though it doesn't slow the heartbreak. Through a choking sadness that nearly blocks away all my air, I whisper, "I love you, Victor. I love you with all my heart, all my soul…"

"I know," he whispers, leaning his head on my forehead; I close my eyes with his face on mine and begin to breathe rapidly, feeling what wonders I always feel when he's close to me. "I…I…I cannot imagine my life without you, Nicole. I've…I've been wanting to ask you this for a long, long time, but…" He pulls away, and takes my hands, though they're bloody. Then he looks deep into my eyes so much love that it only breaks my heart apart further.

"Nicole Hudson…my love…will you be my wife?"

Finally, my heart splits all the way down into my stomach, and my tears pour down my face like rushing rivers. It hurts so much to cry, and I honestly don't know the answer to his question. I want so much to spend the rest of my life with him, but what about my life back home? My parents need me, and they still want me to go on, don't they? It would kill them if they never learned where I'd disappeared to, making them suffer when they're in enough disparity already- working so hard for very little, and then never seeing their daughter again. What's more important- my family or the man I love most above everything else in this world? But then there's my wound to consider. Only advanced medical help can heal me all the way, because here, they will just stuff cloths in it and send me on my way. I probably won't live to see me and Victor get married if that happens. The tears only come faster when I realize that my decision will cause me to never see Victor again.

"I can't, Victor," I finally say through my tears.


	23. Separate Ways

Chapter 23 (Victor)

Watching my love weep, I know that she's going to say no. My body nearly collapses to the floor as the reality of her words sinks into me, breaking my heart in two. Tears begin to well in my eyes when I realize that, with that rejection, she and I will never be together. I will be forever trapped in the arranged marriage; to a life I don't want, to a woman I don't love. But I won't take any other woman for my bride. Nicole is the only one I'll ever love. If I could love a dead woman, that woman will always be her.

"What's wrong, Nicole?" I wonder out loud. "Why won't you be mine?"

"I already _am _yours, Victor," she says, crying. "It's just- I need to go home in order to fix this wound. I'm not from around here. And I don't mean from this town. I mean I'm not from…this…_time_."

She is breaking my heart enough, but now she's confusing me. With every moment that she says she won't be my wife, my heart- my soul- grows heavier. "What do you mean?" I ask, stroking her cheek. It startles me to touch her- her skin is cold as ice- but I don't care. Nicole is in pain, and I intend not to leave her.

Nicole shakes her head and her face- which is now pink with her tears- shortly grins. "No, just forget it. It's only a bunch of strange, silly magic," she says. But her face grows sad again when she reaches up to touch my face. "Believe me about how much I love you and want to be your wife, but this magic that brought me here will separate us forever. And I can't be your wife if that happens. I'll die if I stay here."

"But you can stay here and I can help you," I plead with her, saying whatever I can for her to stay with me.

"You don't understand," she says. "My wound is something that only advanced medical procedures can cure. They have the tools back in my time to cure me. And…I also have a family. They don't even know that I'm here."

"But…are you certain you cannot come back?" I ask desperately.

"Yes," she answers, her voice choking.

I bow my head, and fight back tears of my own. I'm losing her, my only love in the world, and I'll never see her again. But then, as I look at the key around her neck, I find myself smiling when I think of the "magic" that brought her here.

"Nicole, I promise," I say, stroking her cheek. "I'll never stop loving you. I think that was good magic too, because, it brought you here to me."

Nicole pulls my face down suddenly, and presses her lips onto mine. Instantly, I feel that old familiar jolt throughout me again, and I hold her head in my hands. There's no other feeling felt before that is like kissing this woman, simply so wonderful and calming. Now I know even more that our love is everlasting; that no matter which directions fate took us, I'm not going to forget Nicole, even if I live to be one hundred years old. Even if I come to love my fiancé Victoria, I won't ever love her as much as Nicole. I feel terrified of the idea of marriage, if it were to anyone but Nicole.

Finally, as Nicole grasps me within her limping arms, I feel tears form in my eyes once again.

"Oh, Nicole," I whisper, breaking down into tears. "I need you. I'm always going to."

"Please, Victor," she says, still crying, "don't start that again. You'll only make me change my mind. I don't want to, but it's killing me."

Suddenly, I see no further use in trying to make her stay with me. She has to see her family, and get well from what's been done to her. She is practically dying from the inside and out with the pain she was feeling. I can't speak to her any further about it, because I know that I will hurt her the very most.

With a sad and stone-heavy heart, I lift Nicole up from the floor. She is very weak, so she holds on tight. When she is standing on her feet again, she kisses me again, fiercely and also in a melancholy way. On her lips I taste a hint of salt water, from her tears. Once again, I can feel my own heart cracking and crumbling, becoming breakable enough to never heal again. This is it. After she breaks away from me, I'll never feel her touch again.

She breaks away, and slowly, turns to walk out the door. When she reaches it, she turns back, and one lonely tear falls from her face and onto the floor. Her hand lifts away from her blood-soaked side, and waves.

"Goodbye," she whispers.

"Goodbye," I whisper back to her. "I love you."

She nods, and then disappears around the corner, like always. For a moment, I'm tempted to run after her. But for some strange reason, I resist the temptation. It's not up to me to make her decisions, but I know that by letting her go, I'll lose a part of myself that I won't ever get back.

Now that she's gone, I don't know what I'll do now; to go back home and wait until the wedding, or to escape somewhere where I can wait aimlessly for Nicole to return. I would love to wait, but as much as I would commit myself to waiting, I know it's useless. And in her condition, it's unlikely that she will ever return. I wonder, though, if I'll ever feel as at home as I did in her arms again, because it's the only place I ever felt needed, and accepted. I wonder if the magic that brought her to me would ever bring me to her. I wonder many things, but they only bring me deeper into the darkness that now covers my world.

The darkness outside the windows leaves me in nothingness, and although I am terrified, I'm petrified where I am, left with the grief I felt for Nicole. A moment ago, I had the idea that this is one of those times where perhaps Nicole would return in a day or two. But then, tasting her tears on my lips, I recall that that day will last for the rest of my life, and hers, in a quiet place that I already hate.

I speak her name, and already, it speaks of a far-off memory that creates an image of beauty and gloom at the same time. It's like thinking of the death of a loved one- remembering the beauty of their life, and then the grey of their grave, and then their spirits as they wait for their families to join them.

It's suddenly as though Nicole were dead, because there is no trace of her existence- only in the golden memories I have of her.

As I turn to glance around the house, I feel something gentle, but hard, hit me in my side, and then, a slight scraping noise. Startled, I turn around, and notice that there is nothing there. What startles me more is that the noises are coming from the pocket of my coat.

Reaching into my pocket, I feel something cold and then some paper- wrinkled and folded. Curious, I take out the items. And what I uncover nearly sends me into hysterics of tears.

The paper is folded around something, and then what falls from inside the paper, hanging from a rusted silver chain, is a rusted silver key.

Nicole's key.

Time stands still as I realize what I am holding. I find myself growing cold, not feeling like I can, or should, move. There seems to be nothing else except for me staring blankly at Nicole's key, holding it as gently as a mother holds a child. And truly, with the key resting on my open hand, it feels as though Nicole is there with me again- that I am holding her.

The feeling of the key in my hand though, still brings around the terrible fact that sheis not here. She has been gone for several minutes, but the emptiness inside of me is still fresh. It's an awful feeling that I can't face, and knowing that her key is just an empty skeleton of Nicole in my hand, I close my fingers around it, and resolve not to think of her, although I know that I will never listen.


	24. To the One Who Saved Me

Chapter 24 (Victor)

Every day seems to pass hollowly, as though I'm just an empty shell walking through life with no real purpose at all. It's sad, as I can't seem to find that sort of motivation that keeps me rolling through the days as they come. Wake up, chop away at fish for most of the day, then the evening meal with my parents, and then off to bed. It's the kind of routine I'd been trying so hard to put behind me.

And now, there really is no reason to do it, because she is gone.

It's been several days that Nicole left me behind with her key in my hand. The hollowness that her absence brought is still painful and new, and leaves me feeling as though there's nothing left to expect but a life of dullness and uptight days to live through until I'm gone. Even my artwork feels worthless, without her there to praise them and tell me to go on.

In the grey that seems to have taken control of my world, I'm still able to find just a tiny amount of color that reminds me of when the days that passed were actually worth living, and when every day was a new adventure.

Nicole's poem, tacked on the wall beside my desk, stands out somehow like a beacon, becoming a shimmering cloud of light inside my mind when I remember what care and love she put into it for me. The ink still seems fresh, although the words are now at least two weeks old.

What's odd is that up until this moment, I've never brought myself to read the words. For a while, I worried they would only break me in two halves a hundredth time. But now, as I read the words, I allow for them to come alive in my mind, as much as the drawing of the key on the wall, and the little blue moth flitting around in the bell jar on my desk are…

_Too often, I have wondered- what is a friend? Who is a friend?_

_Who can make me feel equal, all right, like there is something in me,_

_That is worth celebrating?_

_But now, I guess that maybe, maybe there is something to see,_

_Within me, because I found you._

_You became the light of my life, and showed me the way to better things._

_I needed a good person in this world, a god-send, and now, I see that is what I got._

_The stroke of the quill in your hand, is music to hear,_

_As I hope is the scratch of my own pencil to you._

_Art, literature- wonderful things, very true,_

_But then, not quite as much, as the beauty I see in your smile._

_Only up until now, did I really see it- that maybe, what I also needed, was just some love,_

_From a very special person- and that is you- the one who saved me._

_All my life, I was told I would never find you, who could love me like I realize I do._

_And I can only hope that you can feel me, the way that I do._

_As everlasting as a sheltered candle, I'll never stop,_

_Loving you with all that I have to my heart and soul,_

_No matter what the spaces, the flame won't die- I believe that it's so- it will stand the test of time._

_But, only now do I also realize,_

_What may break us or bring us closer, I don't know,_

_But time is likely to keep me away forever at a time._

_I am trapped, and the time has gone away, for you see,_

_If we lived in the same century, these tears would never be shed._

_But time is powerless to stop our heartfelt love,_

_Because you have reached into me, touched my heart,_

_In ways that no one else can, and I assure you,_

_That no one ever will again-'cause you're the one who saved me._

_For as they say: now I lay me down to sleep,_

_I pray the lord my soul to keep._

_If I should die before I wake…_

_I pray you the key to me forevermore to take._

With the melancholy nature of the words, I wonder if these might be the last words she will ever say to me. A ghostly coldness sweeps over the room, but the key she mentioned is warm in my hand, and I smile as I hold it.

For several moments, I look at the key, imagining what it had experienced, laying on top of Nicole's heart- the warmth of happiness, the coldness of sadness, and then, the wonderful comforting magic of love.

Then, I take the key in my fingers, and hang the chain on a hook on the wall. I hold the key in my hand, and I shiver; not just from the key, but remembering how the key felt between Nicole and I the night we were in bed. I close my eyes and can suddenly recall every moment of that night.

Even when I do marry, I won't forget you Nicole. You'll be my love…always…

Instantly, Mother's screech cuts through my thoughts, and the ghost-like coldness disappears quickly as it had come.

"Victor, come downstairs," she calls. "There's someone to see you."

My head snaps upwards, and my whole body goes warm with the rush of excitement that grips me so that I almost shout to the world the one thought that flashes through my mind like a beautiful dream. And as I dash down the stairs, I barely stop long enough to notice a group of men carrying a tall, thin body wrapped in a red sheet of blood…no, she is waiting…

"Nicole…"


End file.
